Blood of Malice - Transcendent Perspective
by Sev Baggins
Summary: A creature never meant to live, Seville is exiled to Middle Earth to protect herself and the only family she's ever known. She intends to waste away there, but changes her mind when she finds Frodo Baggins. After becoming his closest companion she travels by his side to destroy the One Ring. Definitely lots of romance; no sex scenes, slash, profanity, or gore. Frodo/OC
1. Prologue - Seville's Creation

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading! I have this story all worked out (and have finished it twice). I will update every week until it's all on here. Hope you guys like it. :) More than can be said for the summary is that I would love feedback if you have any! -Sev**

Willation's hands flitted around the Alchemic counter, drawing one powder or pigment after another. They combined in his hands to create a living, pulsing gelatin. His heart raced; he couldn't work fast enough as his fingers carefully molded a living creature, a human of sorts. Every inch of the thing revealed itself moment after moment, while he worked from its feet up. The gelatin hardened into empty flesh even as he worked, quickly creating a mold from which to work.

This would have to be right. Sheratan lay dying, and they didn't have time.

He nodded, forced to be satisfied with the full-grown creature at its height of three and a half feet. He collapsed the structure in his arms, carrying it back into the dungeon cell where Sheratan lay, convulsing. Powerful, black poison throbbed through her system, eating away at her heart even as she lay down. As he grabbed her hand, he watched the sword from only thirty minutes before, saw it flicker. He had expected to die, but she leaped in the way. He shook his head, tears pricking at his eyes. He couldn't lose her, not now. Alshain had killed himself. Willation almost wanted to think the latter a miracle, but Alshain could have healed her. He had, after all, fashioned the poison to kill anyone.

Now this would be their last chance.

Sheratan's long, red hair lay in tangles across her face and heaving lungs. She could see nothing, and sharp pain throbbed through her system, eating away at the cells within her. The world blurred; she almost anticipated dying, relative to this horror.

There had been no signs of blood, but a great, gaping gash claimed passage through her entire torso. The moment bleeding begun Willation would know he'd lost her. He rushed the gelatin mass to her side, then grabbed her fingers desperately. Her skin began to deteriorate, decaying into a frail sheet of gray. He threw his energy and his prayers to the Great Creator into his own fingers, and felt the healing pull at him. The poison coalesced in a black pool at his fingertips, and Sheratan writhed in pain. Only a heart-wrenching moan escaped her, and her eyes slacked back. Willation had never known her to scream before, and hoped now would not be the time such a circumstance changed. He'd never forget the chill of her voice in terrified agony beating against his ears.

Her emotions bared themselves in a simple cry as the gelatin in Willation's arms fleshed out. The black poison created a visible bloodstream until the skin began to layer itself, thickening. As Willation wrapped her in his cloak, features formed on the girl's face, and her flesh grew more opaque as semi-mortal form overtook her. Her nose and mouth, as well as the curves of her eyes, grew alike to Sheratan's. Thick, bushy hair sprouted in curls over the top of her head and grew down.

Only when her eyes flashed open did color begin to appear. Her lips were inky black, and her murky blue irises contrasted black blood in her eyes. Her hair grew dark red, a little more maroon than Sheratan's. A dark dot also faded into view on her left cheek, a mark of distinction. She would fit nowhere.

Sheratan finally felt the pain deteriorate; it had gone, but she knew it had to go somewhere. She turned her head, spotting a girl nearby. She furrowed her brow as she took in the details, what had happened as she watched black blood forge paths through the girl's system. Almost immediately a name came to mind. "Seville," she said weakly.

Willation's head snapped up.

Sheratan tossed her head at the girl, but the action stunned her, so she didn't move further. She moaned and laid back against the bed, trying to keep it subtle enough not to let Willation know. "She will live, won't she?"

He nodded, gently lifting the limp form up from the ground. The girl's eyes slacked back; he didn't know how long it would take for life to really come to her. She had no soul. Her life would be a false one, and her own existence created friction with the world. She would be too dangerous to live for very long.

"She won't last much time," Willation said carefully, laying her down in Sheratan's lap. The latter sat up abruptly, reverently holding the girl in her arms. The face looked nigh identical to her own; even the dark mark on her cheek in the exact same place.

Sheratan surveyed her. "We still ought to name her."

"Hence Seville," Willation prompted. He paused as he considered the name.

"Blood of darkness," they said nigh simultaneously. Willation looked up at Sheratan and realized how accurate the name would be as the girl's life played out. The name, while sinister and feared among Lavwuns, would not be a detriment to her social standing: Seville could never fit in with the outside world. If ever she were accepted by anyone outside of her creators, it would be too miraculous . . . until the moment she became dangerous to everyone around her.

Willation knelt down next to the bed. He knew what he had done. He had given life to something not meant to live. Not only did Seville defy the laws of the universe themselves, but the very blood in her veins sizzled with the desire to destroy, to be rid of itself in some way. Seville would fight the world and her own existence for the rest of her life.

After life she could go nowhere. Everything about her would be pain.

Willation didn't realize his face had soaked with tears until Sheratan's expression grew concerned, and she sat up. "Willation?" Her fingers graced his cheek, absorbing the tears there.

She feared what he would say. He didn't look too overjoyed, although he had just committed a monumental act. Apparently there were too huge of downsides to really celebrate this creation of life.

He brought Sheratan's hand down, holding it with both of his own. He swallowed before he launched into explanation, about how Seville couldn't truly live. How she would never die, but would decay upon losing the last of her blood, as it appeared to deteriorate little by little to rid existence of itself. How every day she experienced would be pain, friction with existence and friction with herself as such a dark creature. He could think of nothing to help. He could not heal her, for as a creature—or an anti-creature, he realized described her better—she relatively stood perfectly healthy.

Even as Willation related all of these horrible things, he realized he would have created Seville anyway, had he analyzed before what would happen and knew the consequences. He glanced up at Sheratan. He pulled Seville from her arms and laid her very carefully aside. The pale skin had not gone away; yet another freakish aspect to a permanent misfit.

Sheratan realized the dynamic of what she had done, of what Willation had been forced to do because she leaped in the way. But as she studied his deep, brown eyes and the tears held within them she knew she would never have let him die, even if she had known about Seville beforehand. Neither would have given up the already-broken little girl for anything.

Willation took Sheratan in his arms, sighing a little as he drove the consequences of creating Seville against the consequences of not, and he felt somewhat comforted.

"I would have lost you if she didn't exist," he said, and Sheratan buried her face in his shoulder. Then he felt a moment of peace, of the Great Creator trying to tell him something. He pulled Sheratan closer. "She will be all right."

Sheratan nodded against his shoulder. "I certainly hope so." He hadn't expected her to believe him, but she sounded a little hopeful if anything. She knew he would never lie. She believed what he said, although she'd never known how hard it could be to trust him.

"We'll raise her?" he asked. He meant more of an assurance, but he didn't want to force it on her. Willation would have to be gone the majority of the time; Sheratan would be raising Seville herself. "You will, I suppose. But I will teach her to fight, help you when you're tired."

Sheratan sighed and embraced him back. She actually looked forward to it, raising an anti-creature, or raising anything, with Willation's help. She loved him enough.

"Of course we will." Then she glanced up. "The poison. Alshain. Could she heal him too?"

Willation paused, and he squeezed her. "Yes," he said. "Don't worry. We'll take her back to the capital. He will not come back."

Sheratan didn't want to trust him, but knew anyone who didn't believe him usually ended up wrong. "Is it all right if we come here every year just to make sure?" Then she paused. "And to be alone? Just for a few minutes? Verusia insisted we never let anyone find out about Alshain or about us, so chances are excellent we will have to be careful at home."

He nodded, and she laid her head down on his shoulder. "Of course," he said. Admittedly he did want to have a moment once in a while to express his feelings and to hear hers; perhaps someday it would be safe for him to marry her. He closed his eyes as he thought about it. He had only kissed her once. He couldn't imagine doing it for the rest of his life.

Sheratan could feel him shifting. She wondered what he thought, why he tensed so every moment he walked by her side on the way down the mountain.


	2. A Dark Birthday

**To heck with waiting a week to update! I might as well throw it in now; it's all written anyway. Sorry, it moves a little fast-but after writing this for the third time I can't seem to go any slower than this.**

 **Speaking of writing this for the third time, this Saturday I've decided to put my finished versions of Frodo and Sev on here, both limited perspective. One is from Sev's perspective in first person, the other from Frodo's in third. This version will have the most compiled information and the best quality, but if you want to get the story and don't care too much about quality gap (it's not that big of a difference), you'll want to go to those. They'll have the same title as this fan fic, only labeled by either Sev or Frodo Perspective.**

Seville woke up on her "birthday" for the 32nd time, and didn't anticipate it. For years Willation and Sheratan, her only company in the world, had vanished every anniversary of her birth. 33 years ago this day, she had come into existence, and no one would be there—again—to let her know they cared. Of course, she only expected such; no one had time for her. She wondered for a moment why life mattered to anyone if everyone lived like this.

The sun glared through her cave window, shining right in her eyes. She winced, and her eyes slammed shut. She backed away, scooted across the rock until the vicious light departed. She could feel the blood rushing to her face, combating the awful sting. Her eyes watered as she slipped the lids back over them; she leaned back against the stone.

Another day alone. Another day of pain, of an indescribable burning against her skin every waking moment and an excruciating pulse of fire while she slept.

But she had grown used to it.

Somehow it still felt wrong.

Willation and Sheratan should have come back at midnight, but they did not return. Seville waited for months, watched at the cave mouth for them to come back. But no sign of a black dragon in the distant fog below their mountain. She heard nothing, she saw nothing. She needed no rest or food for sustenance, but slept and ate often regardless. She had little more to do with her time, besides read and write like she loved to do. But even so she grew restless; she grew worried.

Finally, two months and five days of counting later, she peered over the side of the mountain and decided she would find them first, as they had not come back for so long. She had sent letters via Willation's falcons to the Lavwun Palace nearby, but all replies—to the Guard and the royalty—were negative on sightings of Willation or Sheratan. Seville spun around, heading for the back of the cave. A shiny, mahogany shelf stacked with leather books and folded maps lay against the wall. She shuffled through the bottom rack until she located a map titled "Anniversary." She saw the date below the title: her birthday, 33 years before.

Seville unfolded the golden, crusty paper and laid it out on the hard stone floor. "Anniversary" and the subsequent date both bled onto the page in inky calligraphy on the exterior of the map, making a mark on the inside in the scattered reverse of what had been written. Seville perused the black markings, finally locating a dotted line tracing their mountain—Atansdorre—down the side, to a universal trail, and out to Mount Demonsdorre, twelve planets away.

As Seville gathered a light bit of food, her cloak, and a dagger, she wondered exactly what 'universal trail' meant. Willation had spoken of them. They allowed one the capability to travel through empty space unhindered by distance or lack of speed . . . or lack of air to breathe. But Seville had no idea how they worked, and so gathered she would find out.

The climb down the mountain surprised her for its ease. Apparently she had not been taken too high up, for she only had to get hand and footholds down the mountain for ten minutes or so. She had never attempted to climb down, but somehow she did not fear falling. However many books she read about fear of heights and dying from tumbling through the air off of a mountain, she couldn't feel it.

She leaped off to the base, glancing around in the foggy air. The clouds departed for a short moment, and she could see green life everywhere she turned. She walked distractedly among the trees and grass; she'd never seen so much color, even on her bookshelf. Her eyes lit up with dazzled enchantment when she saw flowers, particularly the blue ones. The blue ones looked like ice, cold and somehow inviting in a way. She peered at them, unsure why they caught her attention so thoroughly. The water as well; once she saw it she could not tear her gaze from the trickling stream nearby until she realized she had come down from Atansdorre for a reason.

Apparently the map had exaggerated what Seville had considered to be a long distance, for she only had to walk three or four miles before she felt a cold fizzle above her head. She halted abruptly and stepped back, feeling again for the fizzle. She pulled out the map, eyeing the universal trail mark. A small star lay drawn above the mark, and she glanced down to where the star had been replicated at the bottom of the map.

It said _"Achnithe: verille sothai"_ . . .and nothing more.

Seville cocked her head, thinking back to when she had learned Ancient languages. "Enter: open finger." It made little sense, but touching the cold trail entrance—assuming she could find it—seemed worth a shot. She glanced into the air, then reached out with one hand. Her fingers graced a frozen, metal sheet she could not see, but soon a loud creaking and grating split the air, and it seemed the very fabric of the sky opened up right in front of her into a gaping, black hole. When she peered inside, she could see shimmering stars dotting the emptiness before her.

She grabbed the sides of the holes and launched herself inside. A sucking sound grew around her ears, and she zipped through the whirring blackness of space. She glanced around, a little shocked as some unseen force hurled her through the tunnel. She could see stars shooting by, and caught none of them on an individual level.

The cold air seemed to grab her with careful fingers and set her down on the ground very gently. The black shaft behind her slipped closed, and the air about her warmed relative to being in space. She adjusted her pack over her shoulders, glancing around. With how little time it took to get from Atansdorre to the universal trail, Demonsdorre couldn't be too far away from where the tunnel had set her down. Mostly a forest of thick conifers surrounded her, but finally she spotted a blood-red mountain peak breaching the top of the woods.

Seville sighed. She had almost been hoping it would be a dangerous journey, simply because she felt like pain in life required some major reason to be existent, so adventuring appealed to her. Besides, she had read so many and had truly lived none in the way of journeys. The dagger at her side would apparently do nothing to help her, since she needed no help. With the lack of adventure having slammed into her, she adjusted her pack and began walking.

Her walking through the silent woods soon slowed, then became trudging after some time. Demonsdorre had not gotten much closer. Apparently the mountain stood taller than Seville had realized. She walked for only an hour at the most brisk pace she could manage, primarily going uphill, before her breathing grew labored and her legs burned. She easily ran out of water, although it didn't help much to have it anyway. Her world spun, and she sank to her knees, eyes dotting with black spots. She'd never gone so far before, not without wings.

Finally she saw a loose, thick branch ready to come off of a barren tree. She stepped toward it, grabbed it with both hands, and wrenched back with her full body, but the branch did not come loose. She strained against it, scrambling back with her heels in the ground. She bit her lip when her foot nearly shot out of her shoe, slamming her toes against it. She stood on her good leg for a moment, inhaling and exhaling as methodically as she could to quell the pain. Her feet had been growing, and nothing else, for the past few days, and she couldn't understand it. But she didn't want to discard her shoes, not now. She glanced down; her toes peeked through both shoes, and she could feel friction building across her feet.

Exhausted, she gave a final jerk to the branch, and it cracked loose. She stumbled back with the sudden lack of resistance, but she got back on her feet and, using the stick as a staff, began walking again towards Demonsdorre.

Soon she found a second branch—one she cracked off by batting it with her first—and began vaulting herself forward on both sticks. She used them as crutches, and therefore only walked with one foot at a time in about half hour increments. Soon the forest ended, revealing a flat field of blood-red granite between her and the mountain. She didn't anticipate the ascent up Demonsdorre, assuming it happened to be as tall as it appeared.

The plain, now level as opposed to sloping upward, actually made her journey easier. But then Seville realized perhaps this venture would be dangerous. With the empty field, the looming mountain, and no food, water, or supplies, she could feel adrenalized apprehension creeping up on her shoulder. She glanced around, waiting for something dangerous to strike at her. By the time she snapped out of envisioning swordfights and dragons surrounding her every move, the sun had nearly set, casting an eerie, dark glow across the mountain before her. She halted abruptly when she realized she had come right to the base of the Draconic Mountain Range.

Then she heard something . . . a skittering of pebbles on the rocks. She looked up, and saw Willation, a black shape on the side of the mountain, some eight hundred feet beyond, very close to her. He held a sobbing Sheratan in his arms, and his hand stroked her hair carefully.

Seville excitedly stepped forward to call out to them, only for a sharp pain to stab at her heart. She stepped back to look at it; the pain spread like lightning through her system, along her blood veins snapping from her heart to her fingers and back. Ice and fire crunched her bones, crushed her arm. She grabbed for her pained arm—the left one—and collapsed to the ground.

 **On Seville's birthday . . .**

"Seville must go," Willation insisted. His voice, though quiet, rang through Alshain's red granite palace like a funeral bell. Sheratan nodded somewhat distantly, slacking against the wall. Willation didn't know how to comfort her, and simply elaborated on the situation: "These impulses you've been feeling to bring her here are nothing more than the poison having been in your system trying to bring Alshain back to life."

Sheratan didn't seem to mind his last statement. She stared at the floor. "Where will she go?"

Willation shook his head. "I have some options, but you won't like any of them."

Sheratan's eyes squeezed shut.

"We have a family of dragons requiring a huntress in the North Caractocs—," Willation halted when he saw her slump to the floor. "We can't send her to a human family, Sheratan," he said gently. "She won't be accepted, and she won't survive."

"I know," Sheratan muttered against the floor. "Isn't there any other way?"

Willation opened his mouth to speak again . . . but then he realized he could feel, somewhere within, the drops of her tears hitting the ground. He slid across the floor to her and brought her into his arms. She didn't move more than a heaved sigh.

"What about the case you told me about . . . the one where you couldn't go help because it's beyond us?"

Willation paused. "Frodo Baggins? He's already to the Undying Lands, Sheratan." Then he froze. "A time transition?"

 _Finally_ , Sheratan thought. Of course a time transition. She remembered reading Frodo's story eight years before when Willation had brought it home following the disappearance of Samwise Gamgee. And she loved every minute of it, until she realized Frodo had emotionally been alone the entire time. Perhaps Seville could help, if nothing else.

Sheratan shrugged within Willation's grip, but he could feel hope rising within her despite what would seem an ambivalent movement. "Why not? If it works—if you could truly turn back time on Middle Earth without it here—it would be optimal. She's about the size of a hobbit, yes?"

Willation nodded. "Sheratan, you're a genius."

She smiled, and her face heated. "Thanks."

The process dragged on for almost two and a half months. Sheratan worried about Seville, but with all of the alchemical material Willation endangered himself around, she didn't dare leave him.

He apologized for the wait as his chemicals simmered and sparked in a small makeshift pot he had put together using bits of stone from around Alshain's palace. Sheratan could feel the familiar suction as time—somewhere in the universe—shifted back. It erased pain, it stole memories and good times . . . it ruined some and blessed others.

Willation nodded affirmatively and extended a hand to Sheratan. "It's time to get her."

While they continued climbing down the mountain, however, Sheratan still felt the little sore spot in her heart where she would break when Seville left, despite the two months of assisting in letting her go. She had grown attached to the young girl, even if the poison made it impossible for Seville to love without complete commitment. Sheratan had never had the ability to connect with Seville, but some young man would. And she wondered if it would be Frodo, who probably needed it.

She didn't want to lose her, though. When interacting with people, Seville could be remarkably sarcastic and a little bit pleasant in the attempt to be tolerant of everyone, but she did happen to be rather closed as a person. She refused to tell Sheratan very much about her life, aside from a periodical question about whether life should hurt.

She worried about Seville.

Apparently she worried more than she realized. Willation noticed, when they had nearly reached the base of the mountain, tears streaming down her face. He didn't need to ask her why she cried; he already knew. He had spoken to Seville also, and if he knew of a way to keep her with them he would have leaped on the chance.

He held Sheratan, trying to console her. Words would not help, he knew; she would only need time. So he gave her time, although he knew she wanted to get back to Seville. And he felt getting her as far away as fast as possible would help Sheratan with her impulses to be near Alshain, near his corpse at the base of the mountain.

Sheratan simply buried her face in his shoulder, letting the tears stream down her face and into his cloak. She only needed to get it out once; the day Seville would be gone, in probably three days or so after they explained what would happen and had given her time to adjust, Sheratan intended not to have any emotions flood her or the people around her.

Then she heard a desperate, agonized cry, and her head snapped up.

Willation leaped from her side, dashing down the rest of the mountain. Seville lay at the base, rolling in jerks and shoves towards the bush where Alshain's body had been concealed. Her teeth were ground together, and she yanked against the pull on her. He could see her blood pulsing beyond her epidermis level, trying to reach Alshain, finish its purpose and be done.

He grabbed her hand, and the blackness immediately began to draw back to his fingertips. He grouped his fingers together; the darkness followed him, and he pulled it up her arm, across her shoulder, and to her heart. She immediately began to slow in her convulsions. Soon consciousness came back to her, and her eyes flickered open.

Sheratan leaped down after Willation and knelt by Seville's side. "Seville, are you all right?" she asked.

Seville just shivered, trying to nod. She had never felt such pain. When Sheratan cocked her head, Seville still didn't feel as though she had the strength to respond in words, and so simply turned to Willation. "What was that?"

He buried his face in his hand, and Seville's eyebrows drew together. He glanced up at Sheratan, then at Seville, before launching into explanation.

"You are 33," he began.

Seville already knew this, but assumed he had a good reason for starting at such an obvious point. She nodded at him, expecting him to continue. She realized it probably wouldn't be easy for him to explain; probably on some level it would be difficult.

"Such is the coming of age of the species to which we are going to send you," he said.

At last something she did not know revealed. Seville frowned, and one of her eyebrows cocked. "Why?"

"Why their coming of age is 33, because most hobbits tend to mature around age 33." Back to what would be easily deduced. She remained patient. "Why I am sending you, because of this." Willation reached under a nearby bush, and out with his hand came the head of Alshain. Sheratan inhaled sharply; Seville began to convulse again, and the horrible pain spread throughout her arm, threatening to take her heart.

Willation grabbed Seville's hand and shoved Alshain back under the bush where he had lain, frozen in death, for 33 years. Seville felt the force dragging her towards Alshain; she felt the pain fade away until it had no sway on her. At least, not for now. Then she realized, as she considered it, how the pain felt so familiar. The pain she lived with every day, magnified thousands of times until she knew to try and tolerate it every day would be impossible.

"Seville," Willation said. She glanced up, terrified. He inhaled slowly, then breathed out. "This pain you feel is your conflict with life itself." He let a finger to his arm, which he pricked with a claw. Brown liquid trickled onto his finger, and he held it out for her to see. She held out her hand to touch it, and blackness condensed, pulsing, to her fingers. She shrank away. She did not feel pain, but she felt a pull, a thirst to make herself stronger.

"You have no parents," he said slowly. "I created you to save Sheratan's life; Alshain poisoned her with a substance not meant to exist. What he did, I am unsure. I made you to contain it, and now you are the one thing in the universe capable of healing him, bringing him to life again." He sighed. "I am afraid, Seville, the factor of your blood itself makes the world itself to fight you and your existence. You are an anti-creature, and you feel the pain of your protection of the Author, and the one I—," He swallowed, shaking his head. "You protect the Author, and you can heal anyone. Your sustenance requires no food, water, or chemical, but the ability to drain the injuries from others. But be careful, for to become addicted to wounds is to become addicted to wounding."

Seville sank to the ground. No parents. An anti-creature. Friction with the universe.

"Is there more?" she said, monotone. Sheratan winced behind her.

"Yes," Willation said. "Your blood drains when you do not drain the wound from another. You will deteriorate soon if you leave yourself not to find sustenance." He closed his eyes. "And you have no real soul, Seville. You will not die. You will simply cease to exist."

Seville blinked, unsure how to take it all in. At first, she felt shock simply hearing this truth in words . . . but it felt right. In a sickening, horrifying, awful way it felt perfectly right.

"Your name," he said, "means Blood of Darkness. Or Essence of Darkness."

Seville's eyes slipped closed. "Sev . . . essence or life-force, commonly considered blood in modern translation. –ille, suffix consisting of or denoting—," She coughed. ". . . evil, blackness, or malice."

Willation nodded when her eyes swelled back open.

"Why did you never tell me?" she asked. She did not wish to sound upset; admittedly she had almost been expecting this. So she bit back all of her questions. They would do no good now.

Sheratan stepped in then. "You weren't ready," she said. "As a child it would have been impossible to cope, or so I assume. Perhaps I'm wrong." Then she sat down next to Seville, who just fleetingly glanced at her, but then remained looking at her, hoping she would explain. "And your maturity has always been impossible to track. We have no idea how your age equivocates to ours, much less the hobbits'." She paused. "It would be easy to say you will never physically change. You've looked fully aged—perhaps twenty thousand years or so—since Willation created you. Perhaps you shall never age."

"There certainly would be no point," Seville conceded, somewhat bitterly. She turned back to Willation. "When do I leave?"

The bitterness struck a chord in Sheratan's heart, for tears began to streak down her face again. This time Willation and Seville both took to comforting her, Seville only because she realized how much she would miss her caretakers, everything she had ever known, even if life had always been so painful.

Seville had expected the travel home to be eerily silent. But Willation and Sheratan planned when and how the transaction of getting her to the hobbits would take place, as both flew side by side, both dragons. Seville rode on Sheratan's back, feeling a little remorse at not becoming closer to her, but not willing to take it back now. While they debated over a day to have it done, Seville finally spoke up.

"Tomorrow?"

Willation and Sheratan both fell silent.

"I don't want to prolong my dissipation any more than is necessary," Seville elaborated. "And the sooner I'm gone, the sooner you can move on with your lives."

Sheratan swallowed, and Seville patted her scaly neck. "Don't worry about me," Seville insisted. "It'll only hurt more that way. Besides, I don't need to be worried about. I'll be just fine."

Sheratan's eyes closed, and she glanced away. Seville turned to Willation, who looked somewhat downtrodden as well.

"Come on, you two!" Seville insisted, sitting upright. "Look; you're both still alive, Alshain is still dead, and you can get back to life now! I don't understand why this is a sad thing. Besides, maybe I'll enjoy Middle Earth."

"You don't intend to," Willation pointed out carefully.

Seville lifted an eyebrow. "Of course not. You've just told me I'll either get addicted to life or waste away protecting everybody else. So basically I have no room to be optimistic, but you two do."

By this time they had reached the universal trail, and Willation opened it with a simple rumble of his throat. The doors creaked open in front of them, and even before they were fully apart Sheratan and Willation shot through, and the cold claimed Seville again. She actually thought it soothing, touching something colder than herself, something to quell her friction with life itself.

She realized, as they approached Atansdorre, just how alone she had always felt, how alone she would always feel, even if she did try to fit in on Middle Earth. Perhaps she would try, and then give up after a few generations of people with no luck in finding a companion. She knew a companion would be possible for mortals; she understood the secrets of affection. She had watched Willation kiss Sheratan, if only twice. She slumped against Sheratan's neck and wondered if she could ever have one love her so much, and be capable of reciprocating such love.

What did love feel like, anyway?


	3. Frodo and Sam

Seville did not sleep. Sheratan didn't either while Willation departed their mountain to fix the way for Seville to approach a forbidden world, where Lavwuns never went. Seville asked Sheratan questions, grew to know who she had been living with this entire time: she learned of Alshain, of how Sheratan had felt like a mother to Seville.

By morning, when Willation returned, all were in a dismal state. Seville, for the first time in her life, embraced Sheratan, somewhat afraid to leave. She had not grown to love her yet, but felt she could have.

"I love you, Seville," Sheratan said, her voice muffled in Seville's shoulder. "Be careful." Seville nodded. "I will do my best."

Willation extended a hand, and Seville departed Sheratan to take it. Willation had a pack in his other hand, and he gave it to Seville, who slipped it over her shoulders. Then he began shifting into a dragon and stepped outside of the cave to let Seville mount him. Sheratan approached them, clasping her tunic over her heart.

"I'll be back in a short while," Willation said, nodding to Sheratan. She nodded just as formally back, but Seville caught the moment of care between them. Then he turned, leaping into the air.

Soon Seville could only see sky around them. Another universal trail opened up at the top of the sky, and Willation accelerated to shoot through it. The cold of empty space met Seville's skin, and she breathed slowly, allowing the chill to sink in. It lasted far longer than when they had gone between Atansdorre and Demonsdorre; Seville suddenly realized how far away from Sheratan she would be, and how realistic her assumption—never seeing Sheratan again—had been.

She wondered if Willation could feel her spirits sink, because he turned his head slightly.

"I know it seems such now," he said, "but give life a shot. Things might become better."

"You didn't sound too hopeful back there," Seville said doubtfully.

He shrugged, and she nearly fell off his shoulders. "It isn't courteous to be optimistic when speaking about a girl's dark past, and prospect for a dark future. But Seville, I'm taking you to Middle Earth to give you a chance for change. I have but one warning for you, if you decide to stay alive."

Seville didn't dare meet his eyes for a few moments for fear of what he would say. She didn't look at him before he landed, though, in a thin, kindly forest of spring green. Seville perked up when she heard the trickle of water nearby, and could see rolling hills across the entire distance.

Then she turned back to Willation, who let her off of his shoulders and transitioned back into a humanoid form. He stepped forward and embraced her, which surprised her. She felt a little tingle as she realized she probably would have grown to love him too. If she'd ever had parents it would have been him and Sheratan; for once she didn't want to let them go, if only to have a chance to learn more, finally get out of herself.

When he backed away, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't fall in love if he can't help you."

Seville's eyebrow strained not to cock. She nodded, although she had no idea why he would say anything of the sort. "I promise I will do my best."

He pecked her forehead, which only let her regret sink deeper for not accepting him as a father figure. With a final, wistful wave, Willation turned away and vanished.

Left in this beautiful place, Seville had no idea where to turn. In spite of Willation's last, hopeful statement she felt nothing long-term and hopeful here. The bright sun carved into her eyes, although the morning had only just begun, allowing her to keep her back to the light and not feel nearly as much pain.

She inhaled and exhaled slowly. She could feel the sweet air rise through her nose, fill her lungs. But she sank into somewhat of a hunched slouch when she realized the very oxygen she breathed wished her gone. Rejection of existence itself in mind, she didn't feel this experience had begun very well. Immediately she thought of going home.

"What difference would it make?" she muttered. "No one wants you there either, except for the two people not able to care anymore."

With the conviction to die set in her mind, she found a log to hide beneath. She realized said log covered a crevice in the ground, roughly five feet long, a little under three and a half feet deep, and two feet across. She whistled at the size of the thick log, probably the remnants of an extremely old tree root dug up from the hole below.

Seville slipped under the log, into the hole, and immediately began packing the loose sides into corners, hoping to be as comfortable as possible while she laid down to die. She stood and decided to walk around, pick up on the nearby life, while she waited for her blood to drain.

But moments after she got out from under the dark log, she heard a voice, and her back grew rigid.

"Frodo! Frodo, where are you?"

Seville hissed, initially frightened, and rolled back under the log, thudding against the ground floor with her need to get down. She peered up over the ground and spotted a young, dirt-covered boy with orange hair sprinting across the grass towards her. She cocked her head, caught off guard by his height. No one, not even the children of Lavwu, were her size. Usually they grew taller were they in a few hundred years of age. But this one looked young, adolescent, possibly a little younger.

"Frodo!" he called out.

"I'm over here, Sam."

The new voice—behind Seville—shocked her into slowly turning around. A pair of ice blue eyes stared back at her own. They matched the younger, gentler voice she had heard relative to "Sam", if the name indeed applied to the orange-haired one. Seville hesitated, shaking her head to clear the muddle building within it. She got a good look at the rest of him: he held a book in his hands, large but gentle hands. Generally the boy seemed rather slender relative to the other. He had dark, curly hair grown almost to his shoulders, as well as huge feet and Elvish ears.

Seville blinked. Having only ever seen men significantly older than herself, it struck her as odd to suddenly be attracted to another being. She shook her head, surveying those eyes. Those eyes . . . blue like the flowers back home. Only these were alive. Unburdened, not yet pained. Very beautiful eyes.

She shook her head, trying to vault the ridiculous notion out of her mind. Frodo, Sam had called him.

Frodo didn't entirely know what to think. Sam had called him, and he knew it probably had something to do with Rosie Cotton: "Frodo! Frodo, where are you?" But he gathered Sam wouldn't hear his response from so far away, and so he kept reading the book in his hands. The blade of grass in his mouth twisted at the climax. As he had forgotten, a kissing scene lay sandwiched between exciting moments; his eyes skimmed past it. He did not care for them. They served little purpose to the story.

Finally Frodo could see Sam approaching in his peripheral vision, and he glanced up to see Sam bounding over the grass, ready to leap over a huge log in the ground. But even as Frodo turned to watch, a movement beneath the log caught his eye. He cocked his head, staring a little as his vision adjusted to the shadows. Soon another movement flickered, and Frodo looked back to see a pair of curious, dangerous eyes staring back at him.

He blinked uncertainly, setting the book aside. Just then Sam approached, looking one direction to another for Frodo. "Frodo!"

Frodo tore his eyes from the strange sight under the log only for a second. "I'm over here, Sam." He set down the blade of grass as well, peering back at what he had seen. Soon he could see the face of a girl watching him. His eyes widened slightly, but he turned away when Sam spotted him and approached.

Seville recoiled when Sam's feet appeared in front of her log, as he had just leaped over. But the sight of this Frodo intrigued her enough, so she did not bury herself in the ground.

"Frodo, I've finished the flowers!" he exclaimed, racing towards the other boy. "I thought you might want to come and see."

As Frodo had assumed, this had everything to do with Rosie and nothing at all to do with the actual state of the Baggins yard. He smiled at Sam regardless, then stood and walked with him . . . close to the log on the way back to the main paths of West Farthing. The girl's gaze followed them; she looked as though she could and would bite if either got too close. And she seemed afraid they would bite too.

Seville glared at them as they neared. Frodo's smile seemed too much, just as no one had ever really smiled at her before, particularly not a stranger. She didn't understand what he could see in her, and she didn't feel ready to jump into some random hobbit. Willation had called them hobbits; she wondered how old Frodo and Sam were, if they had reached 33. They didn't look adult, not quite yet.

When Frodo and Sam were a short distance away, Seville leaped out from beneath the log and rolled over to where Frodo had abandoned his book. Something familiar at last. She didn't need to flip to the earliest page; she knew this novel, likely the contents of which extracted from this world to be added to the Lavwun library. She flipped through the first few pages, fascinated and ecstatic to see a little bit of home. If she could ever call anywhere or anyone home.

Frodo couldn't help but look back, and he noticed her nose excitedly buried in his book. He cocked his head. Most hobbits didn't read, and certainly no hobbits to his knowledge would be so hungry about a book. She interested him. He noticed her hair, long and bushy as it cascaded off of her head.

She interested him.

She turned, spotting him, and her eyes narrowed, as though daring him to come back and claim the book. He had no intention of doing so, particularly when he thought he heard a growl from her. So he abandoned the idea of watching her further, deciding simply to follow Sam back to Bag End. Frodo shivered, realizing her eyes—even from a distance—seemed to bear black veins.

Seville finished the book before Frodo returned, and she put it back in its place. He didn't come back that day. Regardless, once she set it down under the tree and retreated to her log she sighed. She just wanted to die now.

But what of Frodo? Would anything come for it? She pondered it for a moment. Perhaps she could stay live just to watch him for a little while until she realized he wouldn't be worth her time. Then she could explore the rest of the Shire and be done with it all.

Seville slept under her log, but she didn't get much rest. Mostly she thought about Frodo. She'd never found anyone attractive before, and she wondered what this meant. His eyes, she thought. The eyes made it all. He had nothing to worry about, or so it seemed. She would find out what life she had to live to have that light in her own eyes, in her own mind forever.

A quest. Perfect reason to live and be curious.


	4. Come Out

Her mind raced as she planned the entire next day, and before she knew it the sun had cracked over the distant horizon. She squinted at it, not ready for the sun to be up. Sunlight hurt.

Regardless Seville suddenly wondered what hobbits were like, what the Shire had to be like. She sprang up from the ground and, after checking around her to make sure no one could see her climb out, she leaped into the nearby forest, slinking along the shadows to learn what she could.

She saw homes, and hobbits. Mostly they seemed like harmless, rotund, somewhat unintelligent creatures. They fascinated her as she watched them plant, eat, and care rather carefreely for each other. She hoped she could adapt to them as well as she had the concept of Frodo; he couldn't be the only one of his sort.

Seville spent half the day among them, and learned a great deal, or so she thought. But when the sun claimed the sky she roamed the forest, again slinking about. She didn't mind being spotted there; she felt dangerous, prowling about like a predator. No one would approach her then.

Although she imagined befriending Frodo. She'd never befriended anyone before, but she could somehow envision him approaching her, perhaps shaking his hand or some such. Introducing herself.

Seville frowned as she slipped through the shadows of high afternoon trees. Introducing herself? To a hobbit? Absurd. She anticipated nothing of the sort.

After all, the few children to spot her earlier in the day had screamed. Something couldn't be right with her to frighten them so quickly. She had no doubt she couldn't fit in now. The fear factor hurt her only minimally when she considered it . . . but she left it alone. It could not be remedied.

She crouched under a bush, slowing. No one here would want her. She persisted in her desire to die immediately.

Frodo awakened the morning after spotting the girl to a wave of curiosity. He sat up in bed, in his room at Bag End, and wondered where she had come from, who she was. He hoped she had returned his book. Perhaps she had enjoyed it. He hoped with a jocose streak of thought that she hadn't eaten it.

He missed elevenses to go find her. He wanted to talk to her, find out who she was. He had asked Bilbo, as well as Gaffer, the day before, and neither seemed to know anything of a Ginger hobbit, much less one with black blood and a tendency towards books. Even finding the last trait in any hobbit other than a Bag End Baggins would be impossible.

Regardless, he slipped out from where Bilbo sat at his desk, drawing maps, and slipped through the dirt paths and grassy hills of the Shire to go see if he could find her beneath the log still.

When he located the tree, he saw the book almost immediately. It had been placed fairly close to where he'd left it, but he couldn't see the girl anywhere. Then he heard a rustle of leaves behind him, and he glanced up to see the girl in the bushes behind him.

Seville's eyes widened when she looked up from her muddle and saw Frodo standing near her log, having retrieved the book from where she left it. She didn't see why he had come back, but she hoped it had been to see her, not only to get his book back.

Frodo approached, and Seville's heart raced. No one approached her in the curious way he did, although she'd seen few actual people in her life . . . much less people her size. She began to shake with the strength of her pulse and her subsequent refusal to breathe—even if she did breathe it came out hard.

Frodo cocked his head, eyeing the girl. She'd locked into herself, and now her pulse rocked her back and forth with its intense energy. She flicked her gaze to the log, and he gathered she wanted to find a way around him. But he wanted to speak to her, find out where she'd come from.

He approached carefully, and her eyes widened. She began to tense as he walked to her, and he realized moving too fast would scare her off. As though she had never seen a hobbit up close before.

Seville couldn't believe the intensity of the moment, as someone willingly walked towards her . . . so slowly at that. She couldn't handle it. She didn't know if she wanted to run away or creep up to him, introduce herself in whatever mangled language would come out in attempting to communicate with a hobbit.

The moment Frodo reached forward, close enough to touch her, the girl scrambled back, nearly falling over in her attempt to get away from him.

Seville couldn't let him touch her, and she sprang out of the bush, back into the tangled forest where he couldn't follow her. "Wait!" he called out, but she didn't look back. The thought terrified her. She ran about in a circle, came to the log from another angle. She eyed Frodo, his back to her, as she raced across the small clearing to where her log lay.

When Frodo turned he saw the girl's feet vanish under her log. He didn't dare go towards her, for fear of scaring her away from the only place she seemed to think sanctuary. He just smiled, waved, and backed off.

Seville watched him as he departed. She intended to learn more about him, about his life there.

For five years, she studied all of West Farthing. Occasionally she would roam the entire Shire, but somehow the little log and the presence of Frodo (even if she never spoke to him) became a little bit of home. Besides, she collected unwanted material from other hobbits, mostly books and a little bit of extremely old furnishing. It made her feel welcome somewhere, even if no one existed there to welcome her.

Every day she found Frodo, learned what he did and how he did it. When he told stories she would sit down, listen to him for hours while his friends dozed off, came and went. She rolled her eyes at his initial mischief, admired his loyalty and naivety as well as one could from such a distance. She pined to befriend him, although the moment she got a look at her reflection in a river she dashed it away and never looked again. She couldn't approach him, especially not when all the looks he gave her were only condescendingly encouraging.

Somehow, though, as she learned about the Shire she realized something about her stirred, something she could not understand. And this, she grew to understand, became her fascination with Frodo. She couldn't stop thinking about him, wondering if he could get past her darkness and her lack of propriety and be with her as a person. She craved friendship, but refused thoughts when it came to her.

Frodo saw the girl occasionally, sitting in the distant trees or crouching in a nearby clearing. She froze whenever he looked her way. People spotted her all the way from the Took and Brandybuck fields, to Farmer Maggot's place, and in Bagshot Row itself. People began to whisper, saying she was probably a demon, or a spy from the East. Some didn't believe she existed. Apparently she had no home, or so Frodo soon came to gather.

All five of those years he anticipated befriending her, learning what made her different from the other hobbits. He would leave out books sometimes, only to find them open to the climax, or flipped over the next day. He wondered how she loved them so, what she planned to be if she remained hidden all the time. But somehow, every time he attempted to approach her, he would either get distracted, forget, or simply lose conviction or courage. It evaded him for so long.

Then finally Sam had pulled him aside to talk to him about Rosie one day, and they came back to the log.

Seville eyed Sam dangerously, but when she looked at Frodo, sitting not three feet from her log, she recoiled into her shadows. She couldn't but stare. Frodo caught her eye so easily, and held it faster than she wanted. Something about him. She wanted those eyes, wanted whatever Frodo had. But she had learned: he had frivolity, friends, no darkness in his life. Somehow she felt it left him ignorant, and she wanted nothing more than to join him in it.

The moment his eyes locked on hers, she couldn't look away, mesmerized by the color, the light, of them.

Frodo couldn't look away either. She terrified him in a way, but in a way that he wanted to mend. Something about her—the way she moved, the way her eyes glittered darkly, full of fear and pain—wanted help. And Frodo wanted to help. The moment he saw her under the log he wouldn't look away.

Frustrated, Sam shook his shoulder. "Mr. Frodo?" Then his gaze followed Frodo's, down beneath the log. Both hobbit and anti-creature he surveyed were trapped, entranced in studying each other. "What is that?" Sam persisted.

Frodo blinked. So did Seville.

"One of us, Sam," he said, shaking. His statement surprised Seville; she knew others rumored her to be a demon, a hobbit-goblin. To say she belonged with them struck her as only bettered to Frodo. "Do you want to come out now?"

Finally, Frodo realized, it all had come down to good old Sam to bring the girl out from beneath the log. Despite his shivering, he felt hope as Sam leaned forward. Seville shrank back when Sam approached; she feared all else but what she understood, and hobbits, while she had analyzed their habits, had no idea how to interact with them. She feared frightening Sam and Frodo away. And she could feel a small scrape on Sam's shoulder. She had to resist attacking him for it. She hadn't drained a wound in so long.

"Well, what are you doing down there if you're a hobbit?" Sam asked. Frodo hoped it would work as he extended his hand. "Come out."

Seville refused, growling at her instinct to touch him as she backed away. Frodo's hopes sank. He craned his neck as she folded into a corner of her hole, glaring at Sam and wrapping her arms around her knees. Frodo felt a sudden urge to try and bring her out.

Sam sat back. Seville hoped he felt flustered, and Frodo knew he looked afraid. "It's no use, Mr. Frodo," he said. "Better luck next time." He didn't wait for Frodo's response as he stood and walked somewhat briskly away, probably expecting Frodo to follow.

Seville felt a pang of remorse as she realized she had probably just thrown Frodo and Sam away from her. Frodo watched her, confused by her sudden slump. He knelt down next to the hole. Sam had done his best; Frodo only hoped he could do better, although Sam had a certain gentility to him.

Seville and Frodo both stiffened nervously when he held his hand out, although Seville inhaled sharply, eyeing it. Frodo blinked, a little mystified. Warmth emanated from her skin in fast ripples. He hadn't gotten too close; his hand remained suspended in the air perhaps a foot away from her, and yet he felt as warm as though he were standing near a small, cheery fire. It surprised him—he couldn't speak for a moment. Seville couldn't either. She had always imagined getting this close to him, but having his hand right in front of her terrified, shocked, every corner of her being. She almost went dizzy with the imagination that had become reality.

"What's your name?" The words tumbled out of Frodo's mouth, and he realized he'd been considering his words for five years. Seville blinked, wondering how she ought to respond, until she realized Frodo wouldn't know ancient Lavwun languages. Theoretically.

Her voice squeaked in her ears, and more rubbed in Frodo's. In truth, she hadn't spoken to anyone but herself for half a decade, and so her voice simply resembled a high timbre male's. "Seville," she answered.

Frodo blinked and cocked his head, surprised at the low pitch of her voice, and by the fact that she had actually responded. He'd expected her to hiss and run away. But he could see the fear in her eyes. Seville did not want to run. Frodo had given her the chance to speak, and she hadn't messed up yet.

Initial response took over Frodo. "Seville . . .?" He wanted to find out where she lived, and this would be the simplest way to do it.

Seville shrugged nervously. "I don't have a last name." It unnerved her the way he studied her, the way he seemed to take in every little thing. His interest, while also embedded in fear, frightened her. She said nothing more.

Then Frodo realized he ought to stop staring and introduce himself. He felt a little chagrined but not surprised by discovering she had no last name. It made the most sense of everything; now he knew where to find her.

"I'm Frodo," he said.

She already knew. But she didn't tell him that.

Frodo's hand remained extended towards her, although he had not yet lowered it into the log. Seville uncurled, and Frodo felt a surge of apprehension when her pale skin slipped into the sunlight. If, in fact, she did have black blood it became evident to him now as he studied her hand. For Seville, she couldn't believe she would do something like this, but wanted companionship badly enough after these last few years of starving herself and not dying yet.

When her fingers slid into place along Frodo's palm, the gentleness of contact—as oftentimes happens when one does not perceive the dynamic of taking a young hobbit's hand—tingled up her arm. She couldn't understand why she felt so, and accordingly hissed as she pulled back. Her acceptance of his hand surprised Frodo as well: he'd half been expecting her hand to be scaly in texture. It rather might have been the softest hand he'd ever taken, and he realized having primarily interacted with only male hobbits during his life he should have expected this to be different.

He stood almost immediately and turned away. Both he and Seville breathed a sigh of relief; while he'd simply been frightened, Seville felt the first pangs of fearing she had let herself go too far.

It surprised Seville when Frodo returned the next day. She hadn't expected him to come back, but remained dismal under her log. Five years, and she had messed it all up. Bitterness soaked through her head. Now without real purpose to exist, Seville almost wanted to go find an abandoned knife or hatchet and just get rid of herself.

But then she heard a rustle, and she shrank back to look up at the level ground. Frodo had returned. He wanted to know more. He only felt he could coax her more easily if he actually knew things of her. If he could find where she lived it would make life even simpler, and perhaps he could coax her out of whatever demonic habits had taken over her. He swallowed as he eyed her, sinister and frightened under her log.

He knelt down on the grass, but Seville refused to back away. She wanted to do it right this time. Frodo felt he had made progress when she did not cower at his approach.

"Where do you come from, Seville?"

She admittedly had no idea how to respond. She just kept her mouth shut for a moment, long enough to convince Frodo she might not say anything. He turned to leave her, again discouraged, but when she realized he would walk away she spoke abruptly, shocking him.

"I have no family, if that's what you mean. And I have no home." She slowed as her statement finished, as she realized Frodo did have a family, and a home. She wanted both. She'd had them, but she threw them away. Frodo wouldn't understand, she assumed.

Frodo felt a little pang, one he couldn't place. Pity, perhaps, although somehow a little bit deeper. He realized he couldn't imagine living without home, and couldn't imagine why she wouldn't have one.

So he asked. "Why not?"

It never occurred to him to be capable of offending her, but the hurt expression she gave him—remorseful and a little incredulous—caused his breath to halt for a moment as he hoped she wouldn't run from him. But Seville felt no offense; just bitterness at herself, and shock for his deep question. It took her a moment of contemplation before she could consider a response, although it stung even as her words came out. The frank practicality in her tone surprised her, and brought Frodo's fears to rest a little.

"Because I'm a disgusting, dark thing," she said, unsure why she so much emotion to bite back and no initial need to do so. "No one would want me here." She half felt guilty, as though it were a crime to trap a stranger between offending in words, not saying anything, or professing an untrue sense of want for her.

Frodo frowned. What possession of mind could make her think such a thing? Everyone had someone to love, someone who wanted them. Then again, Seville had no home. "They wouldn't?"

Seville lifted an eyebrow, almost scoffing a little bit at her own hope that someone would someday care for her. "Would you?" The moment the words broke out of her mouth, she regretted them. She bit her lip, surveying Frodo's face. She did want to know . . . what he initially thought. What did he think? She hoped he, if anyone, would help her resolve her regrets, losing her family the way she had, losing them on the note with the feelings she had.

Frodo eyed her carefully. Her shadowed eyes flickered with emotions he did not understand, mostly for sake of he knew nothing about her further than a lack of home and family. He surveyed the rest of her: male attire, a huge white shirt and oversized breeches. Her boots cracked at the toes, where her feet had begun to grow out. He cocked his head; they were unnaturally small. He wondered if she had come from the men.

He considered her question, while anxiety at his study of her built in Seville. She didn't know why his eyes flickered over her, and didn't understand why he could be assessing her so.

"Yes, I would," he said finally.

Although he had thought about his response long enough, Seville's odd appearance threw him off, and the moment the words came out of his mouth both he and Seville were shocked. Her jaw hung slightly open, and one eyebrow cocked. She almost demanded an explanation, and he leaped to finish.

"That is," he amended—her expression settled, then fell—"I would at least like to see you in the open." Frodo's voice slowed as he continued speaking. "I've never really looked at you before." He'd never been up close to her. He didn't even know her eye color, beyond the black veins. In the shadow he couldn't exactly make out her features.

Seville wanted to come out. She wanted to show herself to Frodo, perhaps finally find acceptance. Frodo eyed her visage's response: she seemed darkly curious, wishing to come out but not quite sure whether she wanted it, needed it, or could manage it. So, guided by a somewhat illogical desire to bring her into the open, he bent down under the log, absorbed her unnatural warmth, and easily wrapped both hands around her waist to pull her out.

If Seville thought her sanity had come crashing down when she touched Frodo's hand the day before, this brought her adrenaline to a dangerous level. Even as he pulled her out rather swiftly, she hissed and sputtered—frightened beyond anything—at the strength uncannily greater than her own even while she tried instinctively to scramble out of his grip. Frodo didn't feel as though he had to pull, and expected her struggling to be a little more effective. He also somewhat berated himself for attempting to bring her up to the ground, but the moment he set her down on her feet they both halted abruptly, her hands locked on his arms.

To his shock her eyes were level with his own, if not an inch higher. Her hair, he noticed up close, not only spread in red, fire-like torrents, but shimmered with gold and scarlet strands scattered throughout her curls. He glanced up at her eyes, down at her stark, pale hands. He could see the black blood closely now, and it frightened him. But he didn't let go. Her lips were black as well; he had thought it the absence of light beneath the log, although he now realized it gave her a somewhat menacing, predatory air.

He released her waist very slowly. She settled, having been so tense it made her three inches taller. She actually stood just below Frodo, and frowned at the realization of their actual height difference. Frodo almost chuckled when she sank below his height. Then he realized her hands still had a death grip on his sleeves, but the moment he turned his gaze to them she pulled sharply away. She hadn't meant to grip him so hard.

"You're not going to run?" she asked. She tried to sound menacing, but she and Frodo both heard the hurt and hiding in her voice. She relaxed when he shook his head.

"Why?" he asked. Although Seville frightened him, he'd come so far. Besides, she had no one. She might as well have a friend somewhere, and Frodo hadn't been hurt by her yet. She could have bitten him while he pulled her out from her log.

She blinked. She'd seen her reflection: dark blood, dark lips, wild hair, a dark grimace. She didn't know why he wouldn't abandon her. So she relaxed, straightening from her hunched position. "Because most people do."


	5. 13 Years

Sev sat down on the log, and Frodo sat a good six or seven inches away. They talked for a few hours, primarily about the book Frodo had left for her to read the day they had seen each other for the first time, before Sam approached and Seville dove back under her log. Frodo introduced the two, and somehow Seville managed to relax enough and Sam managed not to fear her for a minute or so.

It took a few weeks of afternoons—once Seville noted Frodo would introduce her to other hobbits as his friend—for her to truly open up. Soon after Frodo and Sam began visiting, Seville noticed they would nudge each other, palm each other's faces dead on in a gesture of jocose disdain, and chase each other around. The first time she did so to Frodo, a dark blush rose to her face, but he and Sam simply broke out laughing following a moment of shock. She laughed too, and it felt amazing for her. Frodo simply found it progress in the way of befriending a homeless, scary hobbit girl.

It helped Frodo that she couldn't sneak up on him, and they couldn't approach each other without him, at least, being aware of her presence. Her warmth carried a certain gentility he never found anywhere but the fireplace. Even so, a fire had smoke and spat embers; Seville had neither. Just friendly conversation and comfort. He never told her. Seville wondered how he always knew if she had come, for he called out to her when she didn't herself know they were close together. But she did love their talks. She realized, soon, that she'd found a friend within Frodo. Frodo Baggins, she learned, of Bag End, which she visited often. She met Bilbo Baggins after knowing Frodo for a few months, and he warmed up to her very quickly. She found herself nerve wracked by his boisterous embraces, but accepted them.

In one conversation a few months into their friendship, Frodo told Seville of a book he had recently read . . . but having been in a habit of doing it to Sam for so long, the other hobbit's name slipped his tongue in addressing Seville. His eyes widened when he recognized his mistake, but Seville laughed uncontrollably beside him. She could imagine herself as dear young Sam, with his sweet, slow nature and handsome gentility . . . looking at it that way, she sarcastically told herself she could be exactly like Sam. Frodo grinned, shaking his head nervously.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I'm sorry . . . I can just imagine what you were thinking!"

She didn't elaborate, so Frodo just shrugged apologetically. "I beg your pardon," he said uncertainly. "I didn't mean to."

Seville shook her head quickly, swallowing to slow herself. She didn't want to make him feel bad. Hence laughing; but it had not worked. "No, actually," she said, holding up a hand. "I would rather you call me Sam than Seville." She didn't want Frodo thinking of her as what she knew to be "dark blood" anymore. Besides, Frodo felt a deep connection with Sam; while Seville hadn't the mortal capability to be attracted romantically to anyone, she still yearned to be Frodo's best friend. His personality appealed highly to her.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "I can't call you Sam," he said. "I already have Sam." Seville and Sam were nothing alike; his getting them confused only sprouted from spending so much time with both. Although he almost leaned towards spending time with Seville, simply because when he told a story she wouldn't leave him be until he finished. She actually loved hearing him talk, and sometimes took his stories in wild directions, adding elements he never could have imagined, although she thought him the most avid storyteller. No. Seville could not be Sam.

"Call me Sev, then," Seville said, throwing her hand in the air. Then she righted her spine, and Frodo cocked his head. Essence, life-force. Seville could live with a name like that. "Hey. Actually, that sounds perfect." She turned to him. "Would you be all right, calling me Sev?"

Frodo nodded, and Sev breathed a sigh of relief, running her new, shorter, brighter name through her head a few times. It certainly sounded more hobbit-like to Frodo, and he had associated the name Seville with the demon gossip of East and West Farthing, of a nightmare only he and Sam had ever been able to tap into the friendship of. Befriending a demon . . . Frodo never would have imagined it. Perhaps he might have, in a story. But having the unusual, warm girl sitting beside him on a log presented story in reality to him, something he had never done before.

Calling her Sev somehow improved the relationship for them both. Sev felt cared about, particularly when Sam approached calling her "Ms. Sev." Apparently Frodo had passed the word, at least to Sam. Frodo felt a new friendship arise, and he realized after some time how he initially sought her warmth and her desire to listen to him, and the laughter she sometimes stirred deep within him. Sev, he realized after some time, had a quick, snarky wit and jocose smarts to follow it. Anytime he brought this up she insisted she possessed nothing of the sort and shoved her hand over his face. She didn't believe in her own positive traits, and never wanted to assume anything. Being desired for company left her feeling confused, if not in a happy sort of way. She simply didn't know how to handle it.

After two years, Sev craved spending more time with Frodo than just afternoons at Bag End. She followed him to the Green Dragon tavern one night. But the moment she slipped inside and another hobbit shut the door behind her, she nearly had a heart attack from the crowds, noise, heat, and packed space. She scrambled to leave, but Frodo had already seen her. He quickly distributed the mugs he carried and raced over to her just as she fit her hand around the doorknob.

"Sev, come inside," he insisted. He'd thought about bringing her here before, but had never done it. He figured if he could show the whole Shire what Sev really had deep down, they would accept her. She could have a home.

Sev shook her head wildly, hunched over. A menacing look sparked in the back of her eyes, along with solid refusal, but she said nothing until her eyes flickered to behind the Green Dragon counter. Rosie Cotton approached Frodo and Sev then, and Sev backed against the wall.

"Sev," Frodo said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. The contact—the only time he had touched her without humorous intent—shocked her into freezing in place. "This is Rosie Cotton." He turned back to Rosie, who had a curious, if not terrified, expression on her face. She did her best to contain her surprise as she surveyed Sev, who began to unfold beneath Frodo's hand, and stood up straighter. She glanced at him, assessing why she would let him do something so controlling over her.

Sev extended her hand, as she had seen hobbits do. "A pleasure, Miss Cotton," she said, but her voice trembled.

Rosie almost broke down from pity then. She shook Sev's hand, then covered it with her other one. Frodo backed away slowly while she introduced herself; Rosie had such a gentle soul, exactly what Sev needed in a place like the Green Dragon.

While Rosie situated Sev behind the counter and asked her questions about herself, Sev pondered Frodo. She cocked her head, studying him as he sang and danced out with Merry and Pippin. He had fairly forgotten she'd come, but he could almost feel her gaze behind him. She analyzed all of his actions she could recall. She liked him, she realized. His stories, his relatively solemn yet carefree approach to life, the way he looked at her like an old friend, the way he seemed to accept her how no one else ever had, the way he treated her like a valuable person. Granted, Sev hadn't the physical capability to fall in love, but Willation had mentioned something about falling in love with someone who could help. She almost felt it, but the moment the word "love" materialized in her head she threw it out. Not Frodo, no. A best friend, not a lover.

Hadn't Willation said a best friend, once a relationship went so far, made a lover?

Sev's eyes widened, and she shook her head. She asserted never to think the thought again. Frodo still had eleven years off of 33; she couldn't think anything of the sort.

The Green Dragon did, however, bring change primarily to Sev's world. She learned in the course of an additional six years how to socialize without any external signs of cowardice, and a more gentle approach to people who needed help. She grew to love Rosie Cotton as a close companion, although she preferred Frodo's company and associated with Rosie little outside of her work cleaning mugs. Even so, while Frodo watched her laugh and talk with Rosie he felt somewhat jealous, but to an extent he felt he could extinguish within easily.

Sev also grew to associate with Merry and Pippin. Frodo hadn't felt any reservation in introducing the two to Sev, although the moment Pippin's eyes flickered over her face flirtatiously Frodo knew he had done something Sev hadn't learned to handle. Merry bowed graciously over her hand and kissed it; some twang deep down in Frodo caused him to step back as Sev rather sweetly—and very flirtatiously—responded. Admittedly Sev had never felt shivers before, not since she had tried to take Frodo's hand 10 years before, and she had no idea how to react to this. She found herself liking Pippin and Merry; they indeed seemed to find her amiable.

As for the two of them, they had seen her often at the Green Dragon, and simply intended to flirt with as many girls as possible. Part of it, perhaps, appealed to their mortal nature as initially kind, if not despicable, people. They had seen her avoid friendly contact, and somehow were able to initiate a feeling of flirtation within her. They certainly enjoyed flirting; why shouldn't everyone?

Sev, since Frodo had pulled her from the log, watched all mature physically. While she had never looked like a female from shoulders to ankles, as Sev stayed with the hobbits she found herself growing differently. It disturbed her, but as she watched Rosie become a woman she couldn't help but admire the girl's blossomed, pink-cheeked beauty. She overhead Sam speaking nervously to Frodo about Rosie, and realized he liked her.

So she told Rosie, who laughed nervously. "Dear Samwise Gamgee," she said. But then she stared off at him, where he sat at a table smoking and trying not to look at her; Frodo had advised not seeming like a stalker. "I wonder if he truly does . . ."

Sev cackled to herself. A mutual attraction, and she finally knew something about it.

As for Sam himself, he sometimes would approach Sev and ask if he looked good enough. For what he never specified, but Sev knew the answer. She'd look him up and down, and soon realized Rosie couldn't possibly help but find him attractive. Sam had a strong, gentle nature, and would make an excellent husband. Sev nodded every time he asked. While Sev would never have married him herself, she knew he asked about being physically attractive; he certainly was.

Merry and Pippin grew to be brilliant young men as well, although still had an ever-present streak of mischief never to go away. Sev couldn't wait to see them off into their own families. Two very lucky women were out there waiting for charmed lives as the wives of Merry and Pippin. Sev just didn't know when.

Frodo she tried not to think about, but eventually gave up; she found it impossible not to think him attractive. It had grown from the light in his eyes and perhaps the aesthetic of his face to what most mortals consider admiration in the way of being attracted. But this time, while Sev grew into being capable of liking a young man for his own sake, she already accidentally enhanced her attraction to Frodo by thinking of him as her closest friend . . . by, what anyone else would have said, falling in love with him. She refused to let her encounters with him become dreadfully silent or untoward, but as she felt more of a desire to hold his hand, perhaps embrace him (for she had never done so, never had the strength to), it became harder to be herself without wishing he could see her for something more than he treated her.

Frodo couldn't have noticed less. Sev had only ever grown physically right along with him, and now they really did stand level with each other. He had lost height advantage, but didn't entirely mind. He sought Sev's company on a deeper plane, even if he himself couldn't realize he had grown to love her. Love never even crossed his mind, and it didn't have to. Sev had always been the demon friend; he didn't consider her becoming more. She knew he never felt any different, although she could see some of the change. She dismissed it of herself, not counting on him ever seeing her as beautiful, and counting on his ignorance in the way of romance.


	6. Gandalf the Grey

Frodo truly began to realize what Sev meant to him on September the 22nd, 13 years after he met her, on his 33rd birthday. Bilbo announced to him early in the morning of Gandalf's arrival, and after eating second breakfast Frodo grabbed a book and headed to the easternmost gate of the Shire to wait for the wizard. He decided, though, to sit in the more comfortable roots of a tree some hundred yards away or so, and jogged up the hill from the gate to sit there. He didn't dare attempt to find Sev to read with him; she liked to prowl in the mornings, and he knew it would be impossible to find her.

Sev remained—prowling, as he anticipated—near Bag End, unaware Frodo had left . . . with a tempting fantasy book in hand. She watched as party-goers knocked at Bilbo's door, calling out for information on how he wanted the party field set up. She could hear Bilbo within: "Frodo, someone's knocking at the door!" Sev debated as Bilbo grew more and more irritated, unsure if she should let the matter pass, answer the questions herself, or go find Frodo. She decided upon the latter, as most hobbits still disapproved of her nigh living at Bag End and would be nothing short of appalled to see her. She knew this, for she spent every night under her log, and people whimpered with fear as she skulked through the shadows. She had thought some would care about her enough to distract her from Frodo's significant lack of interest; she had no one. He still cared for her the most of anyone.

And so she sprang away from the side yards of Bag End, leaping over bushes and dodging through trees. She gathered he had gone to greet Gandalf.

Lo and behold, she was right. Sev bit her lip triumphantly. She didn't even have to go all the way down to the gate. Frodo had situated himself against a tree, twisting a blade of grass in his mouth as he read. She eyed the book hungrily; usually they read as the two of them, but apparently he hadn't come to find her. She shrugged it off and crept over to him, hoping he would drop the book and go back to help Bilbo.

But he didn't. So she settled against the tree, listened to the beautiful silence of Frodo Baggins enraptured in a book. A smile crept over her face as she imagined his expression, felt the gentle tension in the air as the story pulled at his emotions and psyche. Frodo could hear her coming just barely, and when she settled against the tree Frodo felt her warmth. He almost wanted to turn and pull her to his side of the tree, feel the numbing warmth against his side while he watched her read. She had the most insane habit of reacting strongly to what the characters in her books did, and she would grumble at them sarcastically, perhaps give a wistful moan during kissing scenes. His head cocked when he realized he could read the latter now, and they almost enhanced the story in a way.

After Sev sat down, she remained for an hour or two before Frodo heard a familiar voice singing. He paused, gently setting the book aside; the sounded faded in and out, and he almost thought he'd imagined it. Sev frantically kept herself pinned to the ground—finally the valiant reader abandoned his novel. She waited for him patiently. He turned and began running towards the hill overlooking the gate he had planned to wait near.

Sev slipped around the tree and carefully slipped her hand beneath the book's pages. Her eyes widened at the cleanliness of them; he'd gotten this book recently. Apparently she hadn't read it before. Usually books were worn with care before she got to them. She quickly memorized his page number—58—and tore off over the grass after him.

Frodo halted on the hill when Gandalf approached in his cart, pulled by a single horse. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the wizard sternly. "You're late," he said.

Gandalf reined in the horse, and it tossed its head as he turned to Frodo. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins." Sev approached, ducking behind a nearby bush. Neither hobbit nor wizard saw or heard her. "Nor is he early," Gandalf continued as Sev watched. "He arrives precisely when he means to!"

Sev felt apprehension at the dark expressions on the faces of both Frodo and Gandalf, but both soon collapsed into laughter. Sev snickered, watching Gandalf. But when Frodo's laugh rang through her ears she shrank into her shadows. She liked his laugh, but didn't want to, not when he wouldn't take her for his own.

Frodo leaped forward, off the hill. "It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" He chuckled as Gandalf embraced him, then set him down on the seat beside. Sev simply watched, wistfully wondering if Frodo would ever let her fall into his arms so readily.

Gandalf clapped Frodo's shoulder. "You didn't think I'd miss your uncle's birthday?" He continued as they drove along; Sev leaped off the hill and followed them, easily keeping up with the lumbering horse. The two within the cart couldn't think to look back, but Sev didn't need them to. She felt fine just listening to them. She and Gandalf didn't get along as the best of two friends; she thought him somewhat sarcastic and a little condescending, although pleasant to be around. She shrugged to herself with a snarky grin as she walked. Not everyone could be Frodo.

"So how is the old rascal?" Gandalf asked. "I hear it's going to be a party of special magnificence."

Frodo shook his head. Dear Bilbo . . . "You know Bilbo," he said. "He's got the whole place in an uproar."

Gandalf chuckled—"Well, that should please him,"—and Sev snickered, but Frodo continued. "Half the Shire's been invited! And the rest are turning up anyway." All three laughed, but Sev kept it quiet enough as not to be heard.

Frodo proceeded to ask Gandalf what had been going on. Sev perked up then, having always loved Frodo's adventurous side, and tales Gandalf had to tell. Gandalf simply said life carried on, much to the disappointment of both hobbit and anti-creature in company. It surprised neither, though; Gandalf didn't always have something to say about the outside world.

Then the conversation turned to Bilbo. Frodo worried about him. "He's been acting a bit odd lately." Sev snickered, and Gandalf looked at him a little quizzically. "I mean, more than usual," he clarified. "He spends hours pouring over old maps when he thinks I'm not looking."

Sev feared Frodo's solemn swoop. He had such a bright heart, and it hurt her to watch it be torn down in any way. It reminded her of herself in a way, although Frodo had a more stable maturity rate; the pace of hers bounced around like an unpredictable bird in a slowly moving cage. He represented everything solid to her, everything carefree and bright. Everything handsome. At this thought she shook her head wildly, staring at the ground as she dragged her feet. She listed to herself the imperfections—the many, the obvious—in him she had found over the years.

But she didn't want to see him break in any way. She protected him from anything she thought could harm him, and Bilbo fit the category on occasion.

"He's up to something," Frodo mused. Sev wondered if she could get away with telling him Bilbo planned to leave; perhaps Frodo already knew. Gandalf watched Frodo, but the moment Frodo turned to meet his eyes the wizard turned away, seeming oblivious.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "All right, keep your secrets."

The wizard looked flustered.

"I know you have something to do with it. Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of!"

Sev lifted an eyebrow. Gandalf's eyes widened. "Indeed?"

"Never went on any adventures or did anything unexpected," Frodo laid out.

Gandalf sighed, exasperated, and fidgeted with the reins as well as his pipe. "If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved! All I did was . . . give your uncle a little nudge out of the door!"

Frodo chuckled, and Sev's eyes lifted. Dear Gandalf. "Whatever you did," Frodo continued, "you've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace." He didn't continue when Gandalf turned away, feigning innocence so thickly Frodo didn't understand why he would attempt it.

They reached the suburbs of West Farthing, where the children gathered, shouting Gandalf's name as they approached the back of the cart. Some greeted Sev—to Frodo's confusion, but he assumed someone saw her prowling about—and Sev nodded back to them. She smiled when one of the curly-haired hobbits waved. She wondered why the sudden warmth.

But then the children all stared wistfully after Gandalf's cart, voices rising in question as he drove away. Frodo and Sev both looked up at Gandalf, hoping he would do something. The children wanted fireworks.

Gandalf smacked his lips together ambivalently, and then a crowd of sparks and colors exploded from Gandalf's cart. Sev whooped in surprise and ducked, clinging to the cart as the fireworks fell behind them. She grabbed her heart, lungs heaving. The explosion continued to ring in her ears, and she blinked it back, laughing. Frodo heard her, but as she quieted he thought she fell behind them. He smiled, glancing up at Gandalf, who chuckled.

Sev looked up when Frodo stood abruptly. "Gandalf," he said, "I'm glad you're back." She dove into a nearby bush as he leaped off of the cart. "So am I, dear boy!" Gandalf called after him, and the cart continued up to Bag End.

Sev slipped open the book and began reading. She hoped Frodo would join her, but had sandwiched herself into the corner of foliage enough she knew he might not find her. But even as Frodo turned back to look for her or his book, he heard her squawk at what he assumed she translated as a romance scene. She loved those, and wouldn't read a book twice if it didn't have a good one. He glanced down at a nearby bush, only to see her nose buried in the book he'd left by the tree.

Sev flipped madly through the pages, scanning them quickly. She berated characters for making the wrong decisions, and sarcastically congratulated them under her breath when they finally realized more about the story, which she had already guessed. Frodo chuckled to himself, but she did not look up . . . only quieted for a blink of a moment and shuffled with anticipation.

As she read, Frodo studied her. He cocked his head, realizing she truly had grown. He noticed she had abandoned shoes, although her feet had no hair on them. She had adapted to full hobbit dress, although he noted her attire looked three sizes too big. She'd rolled the sleeves back in thick bundles on either arm to stay above her wrists, much less her elbows.

He chuckled initially at her sudden change in expression, although a little closer to her than he had been. He expected her to look up, but she didn't. He wondered how close he could get before she noticed. He knelt down next to her and slipped his fingers over her foot. She flicked it away, pulled it back in to herself, but kept on reading. But he wanted to read with her, and so had to coax her out of the bush. Only one option left now.

His hand slid into the book; Sev hadn't been expecting it, hadn't noticed him nearby. She abandoned the book with an unintelligibly rapid curse word (one she had come up with herself) and dove into the bush behind her. Leaves shook off in her wake, and Frodo laughed uncontrollably. Sev blushed furiously when she emerged; as Frodo regarded her blush—light gray subsequent of her black blood—and sheepish expression he could only laugh harder.

She wanted to laugh with him, but even as she held it all back she walked briskly up to him, working hard to contain herself. Trying to look as solemn as possible, she said, "Thou pokest thy hands unbidden into a novel of my possession, Sir Baggins, and so I reclaim it!" She shoved her hand over his face, and his grip on the book slackened. The warmth of her fingers surprised him, and in contrast to what usually came across as a rough movement between Frodo and his other companions Sev had rather a gentle, almost soft, way of doing it.

She grabbed the book and slipped away. He had to think quickly for a reply that matched her statement.

"I only set to reclaim mine of the first; this action is unjust, mademoiselle."

"You wish it back?" she asked, her voice softening but escalating in pitch. She flicked her eyes to the page number and memorized it, then clapped the book shut in her hands, ready to run. "Then come and fight for it!" She turned and dashed away. She had to move quickly, she knew: Frodo could beat her easily, much less overtake her with a book at stake.

It didn't take long for him to catch up, and when his arm locked around her waist she stiffened. Frodo turned for the book, but it easily slipped into his fingers. Unlike most people Sev didn't physically fight. Frodo wanted to continue, but Sev had no intention of doing so. She also had no intention of holding his arm in place around her, but somehow she managed to do it. He glanced at her hand over his own and cocked his head. The moment Sev realized what she had done she released him and backed away.

Sev looked a little chagrined to Frodo, although why he didn't understand. She simply hadn't wanted to act on anything physical, however small it might have been, but Frodo thought she planned to leave for how quickly she backed away. So he grabbed her elbow and sat her down by his side against another nearby tree.

"Why do you let go so easily?" he mused. Sev shrugged, and Frodo took it as enough of an answer. He opened the book to the front, but Sev shook her head beside him. She took pride in memorization, and didn't want to have to make him start over.

"58," she said.

"Where were you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "65 or so." She nudged him lightly, and heat rose to her face being so close to him. He couldn't have noticed; Sev's initial warmth made it difficult to tell. "You always were a richer reader."

"Slower," he countered casually, turning to his book. She nudged him again, a little harder.

"Devil. You just had the whole morning to indulge."

"You read 65 pages in an hour."

She gave him a hurt expression. "I only had 10 minutes in that book!" She slapped a hand over her heart. "You underestimate me, Frodo."

Frodo shook his head with a chuckle, and as he read (from page 58, for Sev would likely turn back to there if he tried going to 65 and then leave when he refused to comply) Sev began reacting rather openly, chuckling from time to time. Frodo had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. After a moment or two, though, she finished the pages, long before he even started them. She cautiously laid her head on his shoulder, assuming his reading would take some time. Subconsciously she nestled into his side, and for a moment felt safe. Frodo noticed more than she did, and wondered why her unnatural warmth settled him so close.

She read the pages three more times, growing a little impatient, ready to carry on with the story she already knew by heart at this point. Frodo watched her, craning his neck back to look at her expression as it transitioned from furrowed to epiphanic. Sev understood he would never take so long to read a pair of pages, and she subsequently looked up, apprehensive. Frodo chuckled, and she sprang away from his side, suddenly conscious of being so close to him. She absentmindedly brushed her sleeves of in a jocose gesture.

Only luckily enough for her, Frodo took no notice of affection in those moments. His eyes were suddenly sucked back in to the book, and for a moment he hoped she would come back. He missed her already, although she had gone nowhere. Then the story pulled him in. He forgot about everything around him.

Sev turned to read again, but began to study him instead, before she could get close enough to read over his shoulder. She watched his careful fingers as they flickered over the book. She cocked her head, glanced up at his face. His blue eyes grew sharp and focused, fascinated by the words he read. How he'd managed to notice her head against his shoulder while in such a novel she didn't know. She took her time, experimenting in her head. She considered what his hair would feel like if she could just hold his head for a while, what would happen if he let her caress his gentle face, what it would be like on so many emotional and physical levels if she kissed him.

She blinked, shocked at herself, and she bit her lower lip until it stung. Her eyes slipped closed; she couldn't possibly pull something so sudden. Something within her rationalized she had known him for 13 years, and they were close friends. So why couldn't she?

She stopped herself with a single thought: _Because he doesn't care._

Sev began fingering the grass near her feet to keep her thoughts at least partially directed somewhere else. But while Frodo happened to be nearby, she intended somewhat hesitantly if he would accompany her solely to the dance at his own birthday. Usually couples only did so were they courting, but she'd only danced with him once (and horribly) the last time. Now she wanted a chance to do it right.

But to ask him now . . . she knew she didn't like being interrupted in the middle of a book. Just because she had learned to comply with external interruption didn't mean she wanted to have him deal with it.

"Frodo?" she asked gently, quietly enough he would only notice if he were paying any attention at all. He had left some sector of mentality for when she did anything, in case she came back and did anything entertaining. It slipped through the murk of a distant world in Frodo's head, and he acknowledged her by turning his head slightly, but he had to finish the chapter first.

Sev winced a little. "I'm sorry—,"

He shook his head, glancing up from the book. He set it aside and patted the ground next to him, waiting for her to come and join him. Sev exhaled slowly and slipped over to his side. The initial grin on his face, one not typically initiated consciously, made her feel safe. Everything about him, despite the worry of being rejected for her darkness, made Sev feel more safe than usual around him.

Sev swallowed when Frodo glanced at her, wondering why she looked so nervous. "Bilbo's birthday—and yours—are to be celebrated tonight, at Bag End . . ." Sev trailed off, and Frodo cocked his head, urging her to continue. " . . . and I wondered if—," She had to stop when she looked up and made the mistake of eye contact. It shocked her into a halt. Frodo simply felt confused.

"You love dancing, do you not?" The words rushed from Sev's mouth after the initial shock of his bright, gentle eyes faded away. Frodo nodded. "Could I accompany you . . . tonight?" Sev bit her lip. She almost wanted to ask if he would do it for her, but she felt it too much a question of attraction. Perhaps he wouldn't care how she worded it.

She saw him shrug, but Frodo actually felt his spirits lift a little. The things Sev showed enthusiasm for excited Frodo, if only for everything she emanated. She hadn't enjoyed it the first time, until she told him Sam had been teaching her. Or, at least, he attributed his excitement to hers; something deep down whispered perhaps he just wanted to dance with Sev for his own reasons, and his heart fluttered. He shoved it back, unsure.

"Sure!" Nothing more could come out, not with an inner battle on the rise. His confusion threw him back into his book.

Sev didn't notice, couldn't know. Frodo's acceptance of her request excited her too much to process. Both of them could feel excitement boiling in her blood; she felt the need to run it off. "Really?" Frodo almost questioned her about her surprise. Of course he wanted to. "When do you want to meet me, and where?"

Frodo felt his resolve crumble and his pulse quicken. He didn't understand, and so his words came out muddled. "I'll come get you," he said, not even sure what came out of his mouth. "Right after afternoon tea . . ." It would give him some time to think.

Excitement swallowed Sev. She had to run. She stood, and Frodo's gaze flickered to her. He didn't want her to leave, but he couldn't process with her sitting there. He shivered with the sudden departure of warmth. He threw himself into his book, investing in something he almost didn't care about for the present.

"See you then!" Sev called out as she raced away. She ran faster than she ever had, bounding over logs and bushes with driven ease. She hadn't spent enough energy by the time she made it back to her log, so she ran some more. When she finally ducked under the wooden span she slipped into one of the huge, soft chairs thrown out by other hobbits. Books from Bag End lined the crevices she had carved into the dirt walls. She picked up a silver ring Frodo had given her many years before. He'd been tired and sick that day, and passed the time by etching her name into the tarnished metal, had given it to her in passing for no evident reason.

She slipped it over her right ring finger, unsure why she didn't wear it more often. The cold metal against her skin warmed as she sat back, waiting for Frodo to come. She clutched the ring to her heart as the day's events passed through her mind; he would accept her, but only to one extent or another. Never fully. Perhaps Willation had said what he did for naught, as Sev had always suspected; she'd never have to worry about loving the wrong man, for the man she loved did not reciprocate it.


	7. A Night to Remember

**Sorry; really long chapter! But I couldn't find anywhere else to end. And apologies for being a horrible conversationalist as far as author interjections; I would ramble on forever on my analysis of this material if given the chance. ;)**

After Frodo finished the next chapter or so, he grew too restless. He didn't understand himself, or his lack of focus on the novel before him. He stood, setting the book aside as he often did. Sev would find it if he couldn't; she always found his lost books, and after a while Bilbo made a game of it, telling her she could keep anything Frodo left in the woods. But she returned them whenever Frodo felt the need to read them . . . and stole them back after he finished.

He chuckled to himself at the thought. Then he sighed, thinking of when he had wrapped his arms around her to get the book back. He'd never thought about it before, not in the way of . . . of holding her. He swallowed as he considered it. It made no sense to want it again.

Frodo glanced up at the approximate area of the sun. Sev would be waiting for him. He stood to go find her, and realized when he said he would come get her he had no idea where to get her from. So he started by going to Bag End, but he could find her nowhere. He asked Bilbo, but Bilbo ignored him in favor of talking to Gandalf. Neither seemed to know or care about Sev's location.

So he left for the Gamgees'. He saw Sam outside the Cottons' home just down the road, and he slipped across the cobblestones. As he approached, he saw Sam blushing madly as he handed Rosie flower garlands nicely accented with ribbons. He noted how Rosie graciously thanked Sam, and the poor boy's face only turned deep purple as he muttered a thanks. Frodo paused when he saw the garlands up close; they were intricately done. Sam had apparently put a lot of time into them.

Sam acknowledged Frodo a few minutes before it would have been necessary. "Hello, Mr. Frodo," he said, shivering. Rosie acknowledged Frodo as well. After he greeted them, he jumped right to it.

"Have either of you seen Sev?" he asked. Rosie, hopefully, would know where to find her, but she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Baggins. I'm afraid I haven't."

"Call me Frodo, Rosie," he said with a grin. "Please." He hoped having Rosie call him on a first-name basis would make Sam more comfortable around her. Rosie nodded with a bright smile, and both turned to Sam.

Sam slid on his feet over to Frodo, although Frodo had been expecting him to just shake his head, nod, or freeze; Frodo understood fear, fear of Sev, but he knew he felt nothing like Sam did around Rosie.

But Sam's voice cut through the air with a whisper. "I haven't seen her, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo strained not to laugh, and so did Rosie. Frodo whispered back, just loudly enough for Rosie to hear, "Is this information such that Rosie shouldn't know, Sam?" Rosie bit back a laugh and hung her head.

Sam had no response to Frodo's question for a minute. He looked a little confused and flustered.

"No, Mr. Frodo," he said finally, still calculating why or why not Rosie shouldn't know.

Frodo nodded. "Thank you, Sam. Rosie." He turned away to let them continue, but Sam timidly bowed a little to Rosie and scrambled after Frodo instead. Frodo snickered and shook his head. Poor Sam.

"Usually Sev isn't where someone could find her, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, catching up. "It could take you all day to find her."

Frodo shrugged. "She told me to meet her for afternoon tea, but I have no idea where."  
Sam frowned. "It could be any number of places. Good luck, Mr. Frodo."

"Thank you for the encouragement, Sam." Frodo clapped Sam on the shoulder before Sam turned back toward Bag End, and Frodo set off again to see if he couldn't find Sev. He wondered if he ought to check the log. He met Gandalf on the way back to the log, near enough to Bag End that Gandalf walked back and forth. Soon Frodo began helping to drag fireworks over to the party, and a plethora of other things that he could not particularly recall later. The remainder of the day was mostly a blur until the sun had set.

Sev waited the entire day, but Frodo never showed up. She curled in a ball, but kept her ring on, staring at her name scratched into the surface, wondering if Frodo would ever care enough. Despite her desire to go explore and prowl, she wanted to wait for him, see if he would come. He didn't, but Merry and Pippin did . . . they passed her log seven times, arms linked, but never looked at her until the very last, when Merry waggled his eyebrows and gestured for her to follow. At her snicker, he gave a triumphant bow and kept walking back to the party.

She watched Sam, as the evening drew closer, walk towards the party. Soon, however, he abruptly turned back and began pacing in the field before her log. She followed his gaze across the dirt road to where Rosie stood, smiling and handing out flower garlands to all the women who entered. She saw their gazes flicker to each other, Sam's eyes frightened and Rosie's wistful.

Sev cackled to herself. Mental matchmaking, and she could probably do something about it. She intended to ask Rosie if she'd let Sam court him. Sam would be the hard one to deal with. Her thoughts wandered from Sam and Rosie to Frodo, and how she almost wished someone would get him to like her. But no one could. If he didn't love her, he never would, and no one could push it on him. Sev would never be happy knowing Frodo didn't love her if circumstances came to letting her show her affection.

Sam thumping as he sat against her log shook her out of her thoughts. He sighed, and she glanced up at him.

"Sam?"

Sam sat upright, nodding to her. He always had such a gentle air, particularly towards women. "Ms. Sev." The polite thing; such a wonderful boy. Sev grinned when she thought of how he would treat her Rosie if he ever got the courage to ask her to marry him.

"Are you all right?" Sev asked.

Sam sighed again, then glanced at the ground. He rubbed his thumbs together. "I'm fine," he said. Then he paused. "How about you, then?"

Sev wanted to sigh as well. Unrequited love, although for Sam at least the girl liked him back. For Sev at least Frodo showed no fear. "You know, just . . . living. As usual." Unfortunately the usual made her statement a sentiment, knowing Frodo wouldn't turn around now.

Sam's eyebrows drew together. "You sure?"

Sev nodded. She didn't want to lay out all of her problems on poor Sam. She sat back in her chair, fingering her ring, feeling the grooves where Frodo's hand had brushed away bits of metal from the surface to smooth it out.

As Sam laid against the log, Sev had what she considered a wickedly wonderful thought. "Sam, have you spoken to Rosie today?"

Sam froze, and Sev snuck closer to him, waggling her shoulders expectantly. "Not that I recollect, Ms. Sev," he said quickly, although Sev could see—even in the fading daylight—the color rise to his cheeks.

"Well, why not?" Sev persisted. "Weren't you the one to grow the flowers for her garlands and head-ringlets made for this evening?"

He turned pinker, if anything. "I beg your pardon, Ms. Sev, but there wasn't anything needed to be said, honest."

Sev's grin deepened as her mischief plowed through Sam's resistance. "Oh, yes, but I'm sure she'd love a sweet 'hello' once in a while, particularly from you." She paused, leaning closer to Sam. "She told me she finds it very tender indeed when a kind young man such as yourself takes her hand."

He brightened again, and Sev resisted the urge to laugh. He would love to hold her hand, and yet shirked from it. He shook his head.

"Today's Mr. Frodo's birthday," he said, abruptly changing the subject.

Sev nodded, solemn now. She watched the sun set on the possibility of Frodo coming for her. The party had almost begun. "I noticed," she said.

Sam turned to her. "Ms. Sev?"

Her smile came out weak. "It's nothing, Sam. I guess . . . oh, I don't know." She didn't understand why she had expected more than forgetfulness from Frodo. His enthusiasm from earlier had given her false hope.

Sam frowned. "What is it, Sev?"

She sighed, letting it loose for a moment. "I suppose I almost expected Frodo to accompany me to the party as he said he would."

Sam's eyes deepened, as if lost in thought. It didn't take much.

"Well, I'm sure Mr. Frodo will at least dance with you," he finally offered. "I don't know why it would matter so much, Ms. Sev, but he may yet. He's not flighty on purpose."

Sev glanced up at Sam. "If not on purpose, then how?"

"He's thinking about other things, Ms. Sev."

She conceded to the idea, if not grudgingly, and Sam sheepishly took his leave. Rosie had gone, and so had the sun. Hobbits were gathering at the front gate, and Gandalf made his way down a nearby hill with Bilbo off the distant hill. Frodo would be among the party-goers.

"Time to get out there," Sev said to herself.

Sam raced across the street before Sev climbed out of her log, and he raced up to the party tree, where Frodo had begun to string lights across the branches, looping them back and forth to get as much light into the tree as possible.

"Mr. Frodo?" he called up into the tree.

Frodo glanced down. "Yes, Sam?"

"I found Sev."

Frodo's eyes widened, and he glanced down. "Where is she, Sam?"

Sam turned and pointed back towards Bag End, where Sev had just crawled and wriggled out from under the log. She very heavily and quietly made her way over to the party, very easily avoiding all contact with the other hobbits. She didn't want to associate, and knew the party would only make her feel worse.

"She's been waiting for you all day. I told her you forgot, Mr. Frodo, and I don't think she's upset."

Frodo nodded uncertainly. He'd never done something like—all right, he'd done it a few—no, many, many times when he thought about it. Generally hobbits didn't care. Now as he thought about it, he recognized Sev's expression when she felt disappointed. She just would watch him a little strangely, as though trying to decide whether to strangle him or herself. So she wouldn't react badly; it would have to be good enough. If necessary he would apologize later.

Frodo moved to approach Sev, but just then Rosie asked him if he would start up the dancing. He asked immediately if she and Tarrie—a nimble, beautiful dancer well known for her light foot—would accompany him to start. Tarrie's expression when he asked confused him, but he let it alone.

Sev entered as the dancing began. She avoided the front gate, for Bilbo handed out gifts to every attendee, and Sev didn't enjoy crowds, much less gifts from one who felt nothing individual of them. She sat against the sidelines until Bilbo spotted her.

"Seville! There you are!"

Sev smiled at him somewhat uncertainly. "Good evening, Master Baggins, and a happy birthday to you."

"Just Bilbo for tonight, my dear," he said, embracing her. She uneasily embraced him back, but he didn't seem to notice. "Pippin has been looking for you. Go on in, enjoy yourself, my girl!"

Sev glanced away and spotted Sam, who had situated himself at a nearby table and sipped ale while he tried not to stare over his shoulder at Rosie. Sev watched Frodo, lost in the dancing and enjoying himself immensely. She watched, entranced as they gracefully engaged in a great series of dances she wanted nothing more than to join . . . with Frodo.

Then, after a few minutes, she noted Frodo dancing with Tarrie. A girl, Sev knew, who liked Frodo a great deal, and could dance far better than Sev could. She flickered her eyes away as Tarrie eyed Frodo flirtatiously; Tarrie wasn't unpleasant, and if Frodo liked her, well, she deserved it. Frodo himself didn't notice at all; he simply enjoyed himself dancing, and appreciated Tarrie's talent, not particularly thinking too much of it further. He knew little of the girl, and didn't feel a burning desire to learn more.

To keep her mind off of Frodo Sev approached Sam, standing right behind him on the opposite side of the table. She slipped around the table and sat right next to him.

"Sam," she said.

Sam glanced up. "Oh. Hello, Ms. Sev."

She grinned, hoping she could get somewhere tonight. "So where's Rosie?"

Sam stared at the table, looking a little shocked. "Uh . . . dancing, I think." Sev subsequently looked for Rosie . . . but only saw Frodo, his hair bouncing wildly and his smile shedding warmth and carefree excitement into Sev.

"An amazing dancer, isn't she?" Sev said wistfully, trying to focus on Sam. She couldn't look at Frodo. Sam simply nodded, throwing his conviction into his ale.

Frodo then spotted Sam, who flicked his eyes at Rosie. Frodo leaped away from the dancers, partially to take a break but not entirely. Until he sat down he didn't see Sev, and her warmth shocked him. A shiver ran up his spine as he sandwiched between her and Sam. She slid over, surprised, but glad to see him finally. Somehow all of her bitterness with him melted away just to have his bouncy light nearby, but her heart flared, leaping up and down even as she sat back to give herself room to think.

"Go on, Sam!" Frodo insisted. "Ask Rosie for a dance!"

Sam turned to his mug for support, but nothing remained. "Uh . . . actually, I think I'll just have another ale."

Both Frodo and Sev widened their eyes. Frodo grabbed Sam before he could go anywhere. "Oh, no you don't!" Then he turned him towards Rosie and shoved him towards her. "Go on!" Rosie grabbed Sam, and they whirled away while Sam attempted to get his feet. Frodo and Sev both burst out laughing excitedly.

Frodo's pulse raced as he held out his hand to Sev, and her stomach erupted into butterflies when she saw his open palm and welcoming fingers out in front of her.

"Come on, Sev; let's make sure poor Sam doesn't die of joy just yet."

Sev felt she would die of joy, if anyone, as she accepted his hand. The warmth tingled up Frodo's arm, and he led her away into the throng of dancers. Sev simply enjoyed herself, having practiced and now knew what went on through the steps. Frodo found himself a little surprised at how she had improved since the last time they danced. But soon he found exchange dances in small groups to be his favorite: whenever he grabbed Sev's hand, shivers of warmth raced up his arm and sizzled against his brain.

After what felt to both as too short a time, however, Frodo could see Bilbo beckoning to him. That and Frodo needed to rest; he told the latter to Sev, and she nodded, breathless. She felt she wanted one too, even if it meant letting go of Frodo. Her lungs heaved. He moved to pick her up and set her down on a chair to rest, but when his arms moved to pick her up, she took it for an embrace.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing hard against his shoulders. His eyes widened as her warmth overwhelmed him to the core, and he embraced her back. Both realized they had never embraced before, and it flickered through him with a new excitement; Sev simply wondered at the change.

"Thank you, Frodo," she said. Then she turned away, struggling to remain standing as overwhelming giddiness overtook her. She sat behind a nearby tent and decided to breathe a little, much less rest. Frodo, having just released her, stood there in pause for a moment or two, trying to decide what had just snapped within him. He wanted to hold her again.

And he didn't understand it, so he refused his own internal request.

Besides, Frodo could hear Lobelia behind him as he approached Bilbo. Sev watched her as she made her way towards Bilbo and Frodo, calling out the former's name. Bilbo suddenly turned, grabbing Frodo hard. "It's the Sackville-Bagginses!" he hissed, and Frodo turned him around, directing him through the crowds of hobbits over to the tent where Sev had ducked behind.

Sev frowned up at them, although they could not see her behind the fabric. Her hiding spot; they couldn't have it. Six more inches back, and Frodo might have stepped on her.

They huddled in the back of the tent as Lobelia and her son passed by. Sev watched an initial grin overshadow Frodo's face, and she settled while she watched, cocking her head. Something about Frodo she always wondered at: his smile, how it appeared regardless of whether he needed it. Because she always needed one, and he almost always had one. She wondered what life could feel like to be able to smile all the time.

Frodo watched as the Sackville-Bagginses left. Bilbo turned to him, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "Thank you, my lad." Frodo and Sev turned to Bilbo, and his solemnity surprised the former. Sev knew he planned to leave; she wondered if she ought to tell Frodo or if Bilbo would finally confess now. "I am very selfish. Yes, very selfish! I don't know why I took you in after your father and mother died, but it wasn't out of charity."

Frodo just stared at him, trying hard not to stop him and ask him what on Earth he was talking about.

"I think it was because, of all my distant relations, you were the one Baggins who showed real spirit."

Sev nodded in affirmation to herself. She knew Bilbo's relatives. No one could match up to Frodo.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. Perhaps Bilbo had gotten drunk, or had finally just gone plain nuts. "Bilbo, have you been at the Gaffer's home brew?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No. Well, y-yes, but . . . but that's not the point! The point is, Frodo—oh, you'll be all right." He buried his face in his huge mug for a moment before turning away, possibly to gather his wits before his speech started.

Frodo simply stood, utterly baffled. And he wondered at Bilbo . . . wondered if he would continue to settle into quiet, non-threatening madness until he passed away peacefully. Or if he would pursue what he fantasized about and actually leave.

Sev squawked out of jocose habit when Frodo turned, nearly stepping on her. She rolled out of the way while Frodo jolted in shock. He glanced down, seeing her flopped over on the grass, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"Sev!" He sat down, cross-legged, next to her. She wondered if he would be upset at her eavesdropping (however accidental his hiding in her claimed isolation place had been), but he only hoped she could help. She sat up when he lowered himself to the ground, and she sidled closer. It became close enough that Frodo felt the surging temptation to lift her hand from her lap and keep it locked in his fingers. But he let it go, simply shuffling where he sat. It would have been an advantageous moment for him to have Sev not be oblivious, and yet she somehow managed not to notice his twitching hands that he had to wrap together.

"What do you think of Bilbo lately?" he asked as casually as he could.

Sev cocked her head, processing for a minute, sorting through what she thought she had obligation and capability to tell him. Finally she decided, "Only what I've heard." Bilbo confided in her his desire to go back and see Laketown, the Lonely Mountain . . . places she'd heard of in Frodo's stories. So until she knew she could say anything to him of the subject so long as she didn't dare share anything directly.

Then Bilbo had grabbed her shoulders, locked her eyes on his and said, "I know you care for Frodo, my girl. Look after him. Keep him safe." She promised she would, disbelieving how she had just been given stewardship over the one creature in the universe she had managed to truly love.

Sev blinked at the memory, biting back emotions rolling inside her core. Frodo simply glanced at the ground following her response. "He's up to something," he muttered.

Sev opened her mouth, almost letting "So you told Gandalf" slip out, but she didn't know how well that would go over, either. She hesitated, rolling words around in her mouth. Frodo watched as her expression and eyes shifted, the latter shutting and opening, trying to find what she wanted to say. "Bilbo never really wanted to be kept in the Shire," she said finally. "He may or may not leave, but whatever he told you he obviously doesn't _want_ to be here." She leaned forward, and Frodo's pulse raced when he considered she would put her hand on his shoulder, perhaps over his own. "Frodo, if he leaves it's for the greater good of his happiness."

Sev didn't touch him, and Frodo felt a sigh building up in his lungs. He let it out with his next words: "Maybe he will leave. Maybe he won't." At least Sev had assured him, despite her obvious belief that Bilbo would in fact depart the Shire, it would be for the greater good. Regardless, Frodo feared losing the only family he had, or ever knew. Frodo stood. "His speech should be starting soon."

He had been about to offer her a hand up, but with circumstances of touch being what they were, he knew he would never let go, and Sev would perhaps slap him and hiss before running away when she got tired of him. Sev stood as well, and followed him some distance behind Bilbo.

Then a crack and a shriek sounded, and Sev whirled around to see a tent lifting into the air. It exploded some nine hundred yards above the ground, then sparked into the shape of a vicious dragon before rounding back over the party. Hobbits leaped over tables and ducked under chairs as the firework approached.

"Frodo, get down!" Sev leaped over ducking hobbits as Frodo turned back to see the dragon approaching them.

"Bilbo," he said. "Bilbo! Watch out for the dragon!"

"Dragon?" Bilbo sputtered. Sev grabbed Frodo's shoulder to pull him down; Bilbo wouldn't understand fast enough. The warmth shocked Frodo into every tense muscle slacking back. "There hasn't been a dragon in these parts for a thousand years—!" Even as Frodo collapsed under Sev's weight, Bilbo came down with them, and the dragon soared over, snapping and crackling into the distance. When it exploded into a shower of color, the hobbits all began to cheer. Frodo, overtaken by the shock of the firework and the immense need to turn around and hold Sev to him, began to laugh as well.

Sev turned, still confused, and spotted Gandalf twisting the ears of Pippin and Merry. She could barely hear what he said, but she knew. She watched, amused, as he dragged them over to the dishes and set them washing. Sev scrambled away from Frodo, for which he was confusedly grateful. The warmth departed his shoulder, and he shivered. He stood Bilbo up and hesitantly stood to follow Sev.

She got lost in the crowd too fast, so Frodo simply began righting chairs (along with Sam's help) in preparation for Bilbo's speech. Sev and Rosie passed out mugs of ale to those already seated. Frodo watched them, and when Sev offered him a mug, she nudged his shoulder. Admittedly, however he took it, Sev meant it as more of an affectionate gesture, but knew he probably wouldn't see it as such, and so felt emotionally safe. But Frodo—while he never would have taken it in affection—wanted her to come back the moment her warmth left. Unable to touch it, he set the mug aside and nervously clasped his fingers.

Sev avoided going anywhere via Frodo's table, but Rosie somehow managed to corral her into only serving the hobbits within Frodo's vicinity. So she sucked in a breath and plunged into it, eyes trying not to flicker nervously towards him as she handed out ale.

When Rosie and Sev had finished, relatively drunk hobbits began calling out for a "hesitant" Bilbo to give his speech. Even as he approached the barrels at the head of the tables, he gave a rather show-like resistance.

"Speech! Speech!" Frodo joined the chanting and applauded. Sev watched from the very back, stepping about nervously as she couldn't decide if she could or should approach Frodo. Even as Bilbo stepped up to begin his speech, Frodo turned, wishing he hadn't been looking for anything in particular, and spotted Sev. Despite himself, he gestured for her to come forward. Sev's heart skipped; she knew what he would do, but somehow she couldn't prepare herself enough for it. As she slipped through the crowds of hobbits, she could feel her pulse escalating.

Frodo's did nothing of the sort until he remembered he had stopped thinking about her casually. When she sat down next to him, he initially (as friends do) put his arm around her shoulders. Sev stiffened, for she had been expecting this, anticipating it even. But Frodo didn't realize until he had already done it. Her warmth flooded his arm, and he had to strain not to pull her closer. He fidgeted, managing to somehow get nearer to her.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins!" Bilbo began. Cheers arose at the mention of every last name as the speech progressed; Frodo noticed Sev only cheered for the first. While there were not many under the name Proudfoots, there was a stirring reaction. "Today is my 111th birthday!" Bilbo announced, after which arose even more cheers.

"Eleventy-one years is certainly not enough time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits," he continued. More cheering. "Although, I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve!" Frodo and Sev both tensed with bubbling chuckles, and he could feel it. She didn't laugh outright, and neither did he, but it was all there. Sev shook her head and rolled her eyes as she imagined who Bilbo could be talking about.

Hopefully Bilbo appreciated that.

"I regret to announce," Bilbo continued, sobering, "that this is the end! I'm leaving now." Frodo stiffened, and his arm tightened around Sev's shoulders. She wouldn't have been as apprehensive as Frodo if she didn't revel in his arm around her, and wanted to smack herself for enjoying it so much. Bilbo glanced into his eyes, stirring something deep down that Frodo had known was coming. Sev realized then that it had grown too late to warn Frodo.

"Goodbye."

Then Bilbo abruptly vanished. A collective gasp arose, but Frodo's eyes remained wide and trained where Bilbo had disappeared. The ring, perhaps. Then he turned to Sev, about to ask her if she knew anything, but all he caught was a flash of her glare before hobbits crowded him, all yelling questions. He stood to quiet them, and Sev vanished too, slinking off into the crowd with a dark hiss. The crowds overwhelmed her. She wanted to help, but she had already failed. She could do nothing.

She slinked out of the gate and up to Bag End, where she had seen Gandalf run off to. No doubt he knew Bilbo had gone back up to collect his things. She heard snippets of conversation, something about the Ring. She heard dilations in Bilbo's voice, and she grew afraid until he walked out the door. She almost felt a little bitter for Bilbo hadn't exactly said goodbye to Frodo. She almost wanted to march up and demand it of him.

Bilbo embraced Gandalf and turned to leave, but as Sev crept forward she could clearly hear his response. "I've thought of an ending to my book," he said. "And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days."

Gandalf smiled and laid a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "I'm sure you will, Bilbo Baggins.'

Sev slipped out of her shadows and embraced Bilbo, which caught them both off guard.

"Until later, Master Bilbo," she said, backing away as she bowed to him. She loved formality more than comfortable affection, typically speaking.

Bilbo tilted her chin up, and he gazed into her eyes fondly. "Look after Frodo," he said. "I know how much you love him, don't think I haven't seen it happening over the last 13 years." He tapped the side of his head. "Sometimes we Bagginses need help with love, my dear Sev. Just a little push and you'll have him. He likes you too."

"I'll watch him, Bilbo," she said. "I promise."

"I'm sure you will."

With that he had walked down, humming, from Bag End, never to return to the Shire. It might have been sad . . . if he'd actually loved the Shire. Until he saw the rest of the world he did, but now nothing could keep the hobbit from loving so much more than home.

Sev waved to Gandalf and raced back down to the party. Hopefully Frodo had gotten everything cleared up, at least enough to let Sev function as she tried to help.

Frodo sent everyone out the front gate once Bilbo had disappeared. Most were drunk and stumbled out without complaint. The women and children were relatively sober, and they directed their according fathers and brothers home.

But so heavy were the crowds that Frodo sagged exhaustedly against the fence once they were all gone. Rosie, Sam, Pippin, and Merry remained, the latter having been ordered to remain at dishes by Gandalf before he disappeared. The five of them began clearing the party field, knowing what they didn't do at night they would have to do the following morning. Besides, it wouldn't take too much effort for hobbits accustomed to working.

Frodo watched, somewhat amused, as Rosie attempted to help Sam with whatever task he assigned himself. Sam would turn violent red as their hands brushed repeatedly, and soon he would have to go and try something else. Eventually Rosie let him go, smiling after him as he began packing up huge, heavy stacks of tables and chairs.

Sev slipped through the gate, and when Frodo saw her he initially thought of her as he did Sam or Pippin . . . until he remembered she meant more to him. He blinked and turned away.

As Sev began to help, more of the field cleared. She zipped from one end to another, focused hard on one task until it finished. So Rosie abandoned the general field to wash dishes. She dismissed Merry and Pippin, who drunkenly bowed graciously, repeatedly, as they backed away to home. Pippin slung his arm around Sev's shoulder and kissed her cheek. While sensitive to touch, Sev accepted it as a flirtation and nudged him back. Frodo bit his lip and moved on while Pippin and Merry departed. He wondered how those two could get away with everything and he somehow managed never to have the initiative.

As Sev watched Sam and Rosie, she realized his blush could only mean that things had gone too well during the dance to let Rosie approach him. They'd probably conversed, making Sam happy until he realized Rosie might think less of him than he wanted. Frodo saw Sev growing fidgety, although he didn't understand why until she finally threw her hands in the air, grabbed Sam's shoulder, and marched him over to Rosie. Sam resisted her, but he could only do so much; Sam would never hurt a woman. And Frodo knew Sev appreciated (and utilized) that.

Rosie glanced up, anticipatory. Sam quieted suddenly as Sev set him down in front of the dishwashing barrels. "Sam would like to help, if it isn't too much trouble."

Sam's composure threatened to erupt when Rosie accepted, and Sev thrust him into dishwashing. Frodo chuckled, turning back to the lights, the last part of it all. Sev beat him to the tree, determined to take them down herself. He gave up, not ready to go chasing her. It would cause too much stir in his heart, somehow. She looped lights around her arms as she descended from one branch to the next.

When she reached the ground, the lights were strung just beyond her reach, just how Frodo had hung them. While they were the same height, Sev refused to stand up high on the balls of her feet. She didn't trust the length of them. She had lived for 38 years without big feet, and once she had them she never got used to them. So Frodo had actually strung the lights earlier so he could lift her to get them, but now things were a little too tense in his mind to actually do such a thing.

He helped her regardless, he could do as much. Once she had gotten down from the tree she tried to stand up to grab lights, so he stood behind her, pulling them off the metal hooks he had set up. He handed her the lights, and she looped them around her elbow as they continued. But the night grew cold, and Sev's warmth drew him nearer to her by the second. She didn't get apprehensive; she didn't notice. But she felt she suddenly understood Sam's fear and silence, having Frodo so close.

Soon an inch lay between Frodo's shoulder and Sev's.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Sev asked despite the intense attack of her pulse on the rest of her.

Frodo didn't think he did more than speak, but having his voice over her shoulder made Sev lurch just a little bit, and she had to strain to keep moving. "Very much," Frodo said. "Although sometimes I worry about Bilbo and his jokes. Something's going wrong."

Sev opened her mouth to tell him, but just then she stepped back from having just pulled off a loop and he stepped forward to grab another, and his shoulder met hers. Every muscle within her froze. Her warmth flooded Frodo, sizzling against his brain. He didn't want to move—and he didn't have to.

"Sev?" he asked, hoping she hadn't noticed his hesitation. Then he noticed her pause. Her head lowered, turning to face him but not quite able. Her mouth opened, and she shook herself, turning back to him. "Nothing," she said. "I'm fine."

But even as she looked at him, neither could move. He studied her: the black blood in her eyes, somehow accenting the brightness of deep blue in her irises. Her lips suddenly didn't look terrifying . . . just evident. He watched her, noticing her hands . . . things he hadn't cared about before. Somehow Sev stood before him, but not the Seville he had found under the log. This was a woman, and he found he liked her.

For Sev it only carried more emotional weight. His face had not changed. She had loved him long enough. Like he had, she noticed his eyes first, but when they met hers her gaze flickered away for a brief moment. But when they turned their gaze she could look at them. His hair, the contours of his nose and jaw. His lips, right there, right where she could reach them if she leaned forward but three inches. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him, but held it back. Did he ever wonder?

She broke away, but he didn't notice until her warmth had left and the chill of the night breached against him. Sev wandered, as everything had been done after Sam and Rosie concluded washing, and he couldn't back away fast enough. Rosie turned and smiled at Sev, then nodded to Frodo. She sighed, somewhat wistful. Sev felt for her, but Frodo couldn't have understood.

"I must be back home," Rosie said. "Good night, Frodo; Seville; Samwise."

Frodo and Sev both responded, glancing at Sam to watch what he would do. His eyes flickered to Rosie for a brief moment, wishing to get caught in a stare. He refused them, and his gaze drifted away.

"A good night to you, Ms. Cotton," he muttered.

Rosie laughed, making his ears turn pink, and turned toward home. Sam waited until she had walked a safe distance away, then shuffled out the front gate after saying goodbye to Sev and Frodo.

Sev rubbed her arm, both for the cold night and trying to protect her mind from her feelings for Frodo. He wondered then if her own heat affected her, or if she couldn't feel it. He'd asked Bilbo about it once, but the older hobbit just stared at him as though he were drunk when he brought it up. Frodo couldn't help but be confused.

Tension built up within Sev, and she casually sighed, flopping onto the grass. Frodo laughed, and she did too as she realized he didn't think as deeply about "them" as she did.

Frodo realized, as she laughed, that while he never initially found it the most beautiful laugh he didn't want to hear anything else. It made him feel as though he'd made a mark. And Sev did funny things sometimes; it reminded him of her character in general. Despite himself, he settled down into the grass next to her. The warmth of her head rubbed against him, although he laid down at least six inches away.

The tension rose again for Sev. Then she internally slapped herself. Frodo only meant to spend time with a friend, not talk about future plans and current feelings with a special girl. Perhaps he never would . . . leastwise not with her.

"You're 33, Frodo," Sev said at last. She came across as ambivalent, at least to Frodo, which irked him a little bit. He wanted to know what she thought, so he could act accordingly.

Frodo nodded. His hair shifted against her own, and the warmth rubbed on his head. He had to back away; he needed to think, and having the warmth against him wouldn't help.

"Are you frightened?" she continued.

Frodo shook his head; also a mistake on his part. He resolved he didn't want to move away, and so didn't shift again. "Not really," he said. He hoped Sev couldn't tell he was lying; he did fear liking her. It made no sense to like her, until he broke it down and realized he wanted her badly enough. His statement only made Sev cringe a little; she had hoped he would say something nonchalant about courting, but he didn't. "There's not much to be afraid of in the Shire, Sev, even turning 33." Then he chuckled, thinking about when Bilbo went on about the Lonely Mountain. "I guess Bilbo's something to be afraid of."

"And Gandalf." Frodo could feel humor building up within her; Sev shoved it back.

"And poor Sam," Frodo continued. "Let's hope he doesn't kill us all once we've made him blush so much."

They both burst out laughing, Sev a little harder than Frodo to the extent of rolling over onto her face on purpose to keep it all in. Soon her sides hurt, and she curled into a ball. Frodo laughed somewhat to keep from thinking about her too hard, but it didn't seem to help. Sev tried to slow to a halt, but her squeaky, intermittent attempt threw Frodo into laughing again.

"Frodo," she gasped. "I can't be laughing anymore . . ." It only spurred him on. She slipped her eyes closed in jocose disdain, and accordingly then shoved her hand over his eyes. While it was only meant to be casual, neither could take it so easily. Frodo's face heated beneath her hand; the warmth rubbed against him, and his eyes drifted shut. Sev's fingers twitched against him, wishing to cup his cheek. But she knew it would only drive her to kiss him if she did, and she pulled away slowly. Even as she did Frodo lifted his own hand to pull hers back. The brush of their fingers stopped him, and she halted in place to see what he would do.

He studied her fingertips, his own tracing across them as he watched the pale skin and the black veins. So frightening, and yet familiar, warm, enough to make him understand why he wanted them.

"Crazeball," she muttered, snapping them both out of it. She hastily ruffled his hair and stood, abruptly righting in a rigid stance. He laughed when he thought of other times she had ruffled his hair, times before this relationship—friendship, he corrected himself—had become too confusing for him to handle.

Sev chuckled when he laughed, but then pain shot through her stomach. She grabbed it, fearing the sore sides (however pleasant the memories they were associated with) that would be horrid later, much less when she awakened the next day.

"I'll be bleeding from the stomach in the morning if I laugh anymore," she admitted. Frodo conceded to let it alone, and she stood to go home. Glancing at the position of the rising moon, Frodo gathered he had to leave as well. When Sev turned to go back to her log, she opened her mouth to say good night, but Frodo stood and followed her, curious about where she lived. Then he could find her if dancing—or anything else important, for that matter—came up again. She'd probably been there all day.

They did end up coming right back to the log. Sev turned to Frodo as she knelt down next to the hole.

"Good night, Frodo. And happy birthday!" She smiled somewhat wistfully and ducked down. She didn't know what to do now. He just stared at her and the log a little strangely.

"This is where you sleep, then?" he asked. No family, and she'd lived under a log this entire time.

Sev realized he might have been looking for her the whole day, had come to get her for the party and hadn't known where to look. She shoved the notion away; he knew she liked her log. In theory he would have come for her there anyway, so he had to have forgotten. Regardless, she spoke jocosely. "How did you not know this?"

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "You never exactly say where you go after sunset. You never ran around with us—,"

"For a good reason," Sev interjected, slapping her forehead against the wall of ground nearby. Frodo didn't push the matter; she had tried to explain to him why she didn't join him and his friends during games at night, although Frodo always thought they were harmless. Knew they were harmless; Bilbo joined them at times, and they had enjoyed mud fights and things. But Sev adamantly refused. She had seen bundles of shirts discarded, probably for no reason other than to cool off in the night air, but she refused to peek out of her hole.

Frodo bent over, curious about what state she lived in. He folded his arms over the ground as he had 13 years before and gazed down inside.

So abrupt was his movement that Sev had no idea how to react. She couldn't have guessed his motives until he had already laid against the ground, and so she did not move. The chair behind her kept her from going anywhere, trapped her in place. Her face remained frozen an inch away from his own. She gaped, not daring to breathe for fear she would lean too far forward and her lips would brush his cheek. The temptation to do so overwhelmed her, so she bit it back, fighting herself.

Frodo's pulse rose, and his face warmed at the nearness of her cheek to his own. He didn't look at her, rather studied the decently furnished home Sev lived in. She'd packed the dirt hard along the walls, or so it appeared, over time. He fingered the side, and a few loose flecks crumbled at his touch. One couch opposite Frodo, tattered and beaten, had her shape rubbed into the fabric. It didn't look comfortable.

Frodo pulled away finally, and Sev could breathe again. He glanced up at her, and her eyes caught on his own. She couldn't look away if she wanted. "We have couches up at Bag End more comfortable than this, if you wanted to come up." He almost couldn't believe his own offer, simply for never having offered her anything in the way of comfort beyond his friendship. But she thought more of that than he knew.

Sev didn't quite know how to react. Frodo watched her, a little concerned for what her response might be. She almost leaped on the offer, until she realized it would be her and Frodo alone, as Bilbo had left. So she almost declined . . . and then remembered Gandalf had come.

"That would be wonderful," she said, her smile growing sincerely. "Thank you, Frodo."

Frodo's spirits lifted as he pulled away and offered her his hand; he realized, moments before she took it, how his motivations were not only to bring her out of the log but to take her hand. She slipped her fingers into his grasp, and warm tingles danced up his arm. He hesitated for a moment, and Sev wondered why. But when the shivers halted and Sev's hand remained warm like the glow of a fire in his own, he pulled her from the log.

He didn't release her hand as they raced up the hill to Bag End, and Sev didn't pull away. She found it convenient to have his hand: beyond being a little dizzy at holding it, she lagged behind him sometimes, but he had the strength to keep her level with him.

Once they neared Bag End, Sev opened her mouth to tell Frodo about Bilbo . . . but he could already feel something wrong. His fingers absentmindedly slipped out of her hand, and he shivered with the sudden onslaught of cold. He leaped forward to the door, opening it quickly. Even if Bilbo had stayed, he needed to let him know Sev would be staying.

"Bilbo!" he called out. But as he stepped across the threshold, he felt something, a whisper perhaps. He glanced down and took a step back as he saw Bilbo's ring. Sev approached him from behind, but the moment she saw the ring the burning pains took over. She collapsed to the ground, writhing in place; Frodo didn't notice, and she hadn't the strength to ask for help. Her heart thudded mercilessly in her ears, slamming against every pulse throughout her body. This ring carried a weight she didn't understand.

Frodo stepped over to Gandalf, seated by the fire and smoking. "He's gone, isn't he?" Frodo asked. "He talked for so long about leaving . . . but I didn't think he'd actually do it." He remembered the sincerity in Bilbo's eyes when he had bid Frodo goodbye at the party.

Gandalf did not respond.

"Gandalf?" Frodo asked, holding out the ring. Sev staggered to the front step, gripping the doorway as she tried not to breathe so hard as to alert Frodo. He had other things to worry about.

Gandalf looked down at Frodo's hand, then with an uneasy grin said, "Bilbo's ring! He's gone to stay with the Elves. And he's left you Bag End." Gandalf stood and held an envelope out to Frodo, who uncertainly slipped the ring inside. Gandalf hastily took back the envelope and sealed it before handing it back to Frodo. Frodo wondered at the necessity of a separate container, but slipped it back into place on the mantle regardless.

Before Sev could step inside, Gandalf began gathering his things. "I must go now," he said urgently.

Sev and Frodo both began to protest. "Why?" Sev insisted.

Gandalf halted when he spotted her in the doorway, but as he grabbed his hat and staff he responded. "I have questions," he insisted. "Questions that need answering!" He turned abruptly to depart.

"But you've only just arrived!" Frodo said.

Gandalf continued to throw them off until he reached the door. "I don't understand," Frodo persisted, standing just behind Gandalf. The wizard turned to face the hobbit.

"Neither do I," he said, his voice having grown grim. He laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder; it felt heavier than it ought. "Keep it secret." His tone dropped to a sharp whisper. "Keep it safe." Then he turned, closing the door behind him. Frodo didn't know entirely what to do with himself for a moment, shocked at the departure of both Bilbo and Gandalf . . . abruptly and on the same night.

The moment Gandalf's voice grew solemn Sev knew something had changed, something she wanted to break now. She didn't know what to do. Gandalf grabbed her shoulders and shook them.

"Guard him, Seville," he insisted. "Don't let him out of your sight, and don't let him use that ring." Then he paused; everything about him darkened seriously. "Keep him safe."

Sev felt conviction rising within her. Someone else finally understood Frodo's value. Then she realized, though, how Gandalf concerned himself more with the affairs of the ring. She didn't care about the ring, as long as it didn't hurt Frodo.

"Yes, sir," she said.

Gandalf smiled a little, patted her shoulder, and turned away to leave. He had slipped down the path and back to his horse before she could react much.

Sev glanced into Bag End. Frodo stared at the envelope, still lost in thought. She growled a little. Gandalf had said not to let him put it on, and she would persist. She didn't know why it would be an issue, despite Frodo turning invisible.

She looked around, uncertain. She could go back to her log, but no one would be at Bag End to keep an eye on Frodo. He turned to see her walking back down the steps, but he didn't want to be alone, and almost reached out for her. But Sev nestled into the grass, far softer than her beaten, old couch, from a perfect place to watch Frodo. If danger arose she would go inside, but for now the lawn suited her perfectly.

Frodo began dragging a couch from the front room to the door, but set it to the side to see if she would at least come in to use it. It'd be right by the door, so hopefully any qualms she had could be remedied. But he didn't count on it.

As he opened the door, Sev watched the stars, naming them after people they reminded her of. She had found a beautiful cluster she wanted to call Frodo's Eyes, but she refused herself the idea. If he ever asked the initial response would be the death of her.

"Sev?"

She turned to see Frodo coming towards her.

"You know, the point of coming up here is to use one of the couches," he said.

She nodded, and the grass around her head weaved across her face, tickling her nose. She sat up. "But Gandalf is gone. I will not come in."

Frodo gathered she would be adamant. So he shrugged; he couldn't change her mind. "All right. But at least take one." He almost thought, _Bilbo won't mind_ , but Frodo owned Bag End. He could give couches and food and books to Sev as he wished. His home could somehow become hers, he realized. So Bilbo might have left . . . but Frodo found family almost infinitely more powerful, family he'd befriended of his own will, not family ties.

He grabbed the head of the couch, but Sev leaped up and put her hands about the back of it.

"I said I cannot come in," she said, "but if it's all the same to you, sleeping on the lawn would be nicer than the log." She didn't want to leave him, and hoped he wouldn't mind having her out here. It almost felt like she had family when she had responsibility for someone. It sent tingles up her back.

Frodo initially grinned; Sev wondered if he noticed when he smiled. Probably not, for otherwise he wouldn't do it every time he greeted a young hobbit lady . . . anyone familiar with Frodo's smile would know the blush and flutters a girl faced in a situation of such. Sev had felt such flutters a long time ago, but now it just melted her heart to see something so bright and happy. "I suppose that should be all right," he said.

Together they lined the couch on the grass. Frodo almost wanted to turn it about so he could see her—the tall back faced Bag End—but she sat down before he could say anything.

She said good night again, but suddenly Frodo felt the gap of Bilbo's absence. On nights when Frodo felt his spirits lift, or on nights when he had been deeply embedded in conversation with Sev, he always kissed Bilbo's forehead before retiring, allowing some form of what he considered rather extreme catharsis. But Bilbo had gone.

Of course, Frodo had already decided he had more family.

Despite his self-assurances that Sev couldn't take this the wrong way, Frodo realized he would. He'd take it as a sign of attraction to her. He tried to resist the idea even as he sat down, facing her. Sev eyed him carefully, and he could only imagine the shifting expressions on his face. Sev just watched his eyes flicker over her, and she wondered what he could be thinking. Her wondering, as well as all of her other mental processes, halted suddenly when he carefully laid his hands about her face. She had envisioned this so many times in the past she didn't quite know how to handle the reality of it.

Before Frodo could change his mind (although the internal battle waged consistently), he pulled her just a small bit closer and gently kissed her forehead. Warmth shot through him in excited shivers. While he only held it for a moment, Sev felt she might be in shock for a few days. Feeling Frodo's lips against her for the first time, she realized her envisioning had downplayed him and the emotional effects of this situation.

He broke away, and the warmth almost cut off completely. "Good night, Sev."

Baffled, Frodo hastily covered the step back up to Bag End and slipped inside, closing the door behind him. His hands shivered with the sudden chill. He remembered the shocks of warmth claiming passage through his core, dancing about like wild sparks. His face heated. He didn't dare look back at her until he had safely secured himself within Bag End, but he couldn't see her over the couch's back.

As for Sev, her lungs wouldn't stop dragging in more breath in half a second than should have been possible. She wondered what he'd been thinking, but after a moment, when the dizziness of breathing so hard began to scatter, she realized he had probably done the same for Bilbo. And yet this felt special, perhaps for having never been kissed in any way before . . . save by Merry and Pippin, but they were very evidently flirtatious about it. Something here certainly carried more weight—as though she were his family. In any way, shape, or form, she would take it.

Within Bag End, Frodo tore his thoughts from Sev back to the mantle. He stepped forward even as she stepped up to the window, eyeing him carefully. He slipped the envelope from its place. Sev's heart raced as she watched, prepared to jump to the door and spring inside if he dared try and put it on. But he didn't; he primarily considered how Sev and Gandalf both thought of the ring as dangerous, how neither liked the mention of it and seemed to fear it. Usually when they agreed one could assume they were both right. Rarely did Gandalf agree with Sev. The ring bound them in opinion for once.

Frodo stepped over to a large trunk Bilbo had always kept for scrolls and things. Sev breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped the envelope into the bottom of the trunk, then shut the lid and stepped away.

Sev backed off and lay back on the couch. Frodo began blowing out candles around Bag End.

She watched, dazzled, as a pair of dark blue birds fluttered in a circle until they landed on her couch. _Her_ couch, she realized . . . Frodo had given it to her. She leaned closer, and noticed one bird had a broken leg, limping about when it tried to stand. She fingered it, and it pecked at her skin very lightly. The other bird leaped onto Sev's arm. Both were probably trying to hack in and get to her poison, release its toxins so it no longer existed. Sev sighed; at least they were helping each other. The whole bird helped the wounded one into the air when they both finally decided they weren't going to be of much help.

Sev laid herself against the soft, solid couch. Frodo slipped into bed holding one thought: _With a Sev on the lawn, the morning will be interesting enough._


	8. The One Ring

Frodo never woke up early enough to see Sev go anywhere, leastwise not when she lived beneath the log. Regardless he awakened some twenty minutes after sunrise and made breakfast for two, with plenty of chocolate; Sev did not take tea, and would accept chocolate as a substitute. He slipped out onto the lawn, hoping but not expecting to see her.

When he got up close, he could see her still lying there, restlessly moaning a little as she seemed to relish the couch for comfort. He laughed to himself and set the tray of food down.

He ate subconsciously while he watched her. She still intrigued him, even if the black blood of her eyes no longer had much to show in sleep. Sev condensed into a little ball, then spread herself all over the couch. Once she had stopped stretching, her eyes flickered open. As reality came in, she spotted breakfast . . . and her eyes shot wide open.

Frodo wondered where she got food if she had no home . . . if she ever ate beyond her frequent visits to Bag End.

Sev eyed the stack of food. Ravenous (although for wound sustenance, not for actual food), she leaned up and tensed to pounce. She knew jocosity would be her only tunnel into interacting with anyone, much less Frodo. And while faking her way through life hurt sometimes, after opening up Frodo could be a brilliant companion.

Frodo chuckled and set the food down; he didn't want to be dead just yet. Sev's eyes followed the biscuits first, and she leaped from the couch, seated next to him, while she grabbed a biscuit and ate it as exaggeratedly as possible. Frodo laughed, and she lifted her eyebrows while she continued.

Breakfast shot by, and following the finished food Frodo invited her inside to read. He watched her some of the time, took in some of his own information for the rest. Mostly, though, he watched her. They went inside to read, but Sev felt an urge to read out on a log above a stream, a very bookish place, of which there were many around the Shire. Frodo conceded, and as they walked Frodo wanted to take the hand dangling at Sev's side. He shook it off and kept going.

As they read, Sev grew a little exhausted apparently, and her eyes flickered open and shut.

"Sev?"

She glanced up at him and shook her head. She hadn't drained anything in five weeks, and even so shaking Sam's hand after he cut himself with a shovel hadn't been on purpose. She had nothing, and she could feel her blood pulsing low.

Regardless she shook her head, slowly and methodically. "I'm all right," she muttered . . . and her head laid on his shoulder as she slept to prolong her own life.

Frodo set the book aside, eyeing her, unaware of her dying. He wondered only for a second or two at his need to put his arm around her, and conceded the desire came resultant of wanting to protect his family. And how she looked so adorable when resting . . .

His hand locked around her shoulder, and he shifted to let his other arm surround her. Her head limply lay against his chest, completely unaware. The warmth flooded Frodo, and he didn't dare move.

Sev's body grew desperate, feeling Frodo's potential for injury, and she trembled while the poison begged to flow out of her and kill Frodo if necessary to no longer exist. Frodo only held her harder, squeezing the poison into submission. Finally, after scouring for several minutes, Sev's blood found a small papercut, perfectly capable of healing itself, between Frodo's thumb and finger. Accustomed to not having much sustenance, the blood took as much from the small wound as possible, and soon Sev stirred.

Frodo backed away as she sat up, looking a little frazzled. He ruffled her hair.

She eyed the book. "I'm sorry," she said, certain of why she had fallen asleep—ready to die—but not sure why she'd survived. "I suppose I'm simply tired suddenly." She stretched, and Frodo slipped the book off of the log. They finished before afternoon tea; reading out loud Sev made a faster run than Frodo did alone.

The event of almost dying haunted Sev . . . and she wondered how Frodo might have reacted if she did die there.

For weeks, life went about the same way: they would read, eat, prank Merry and Pippin, coax Sam to Rosie, and spend nights at the Green Dragon together. Sev realized she had only become closer to Frodo, but she couldn't have guessed her physical drain of any little injury he had whenever she grew close to death bonded them in a way no two other people—or hobbit and anti-creature—had ever been bonded before. Frodo kissed her forehead every night before retiring, and that strengthened the internal tie for him as well.

One night at the Green Dragon seemed to change things for Frodo. While he'd always enjoyed the Green Dragon, there were nights when he wanted Sev there with him, drinking and dancing. She never would, he knew. He could see how much she enjoyed Rosie. He couldn't help but want her down with them, though. She would say something sarcastic, blow Pippin through the roof with jokes and things.

He didn't want to desire her. And yet something about the last 13 years couldn't be undone.

This night he had been fighting his need for her to join them, had refused to look at her. But somehow he managed to catch Sev's eyes, and he pulled to stand up and go talk to her; but he'd been with her for nine straight hours. He wondered where the need came from, but he resolved never to consider her again, not with how strong her pull seemed to him.

Sev enjoyed watching at the Green Dragon, and loved Rosie's company immensely. Although she didn't know a fraction as much of Rosie as she did Frodo, she still thought Rosie perfectly comfortable. And she noticed while the girl watched Sam, rather wistfully.

"What do you think of him?" Sev asked her once.

Rosie washed the mug in her hands for the eighth time, too distracted to move on to anything else. Her gaze flickered to Sev; she's been watching Sam. "What?"

"Sam. What do you think?" Sev nodded to the young Gamgee, and she noted he tried to stare at Rosie as well.

A blush and a smile rose to the other hobbit's face. "He's very sweet, and very good with growing things . . ." She trailed off, and Sev wondered if she would have listed vegetation as well as friendships and family; it would've been a very Rosie Cotton thing to do.

Sev nodded encouragingly. "And . . .? Why haven't you moved to befriend him more?" Sev gestured to Sam. "He doesn't have the courage to do it himself, but he certainly likes you."

Rosie shook her head. Both girls looked up as Merry and Pippin crowed drunkenly to the rafters, teetering about on the table. Sev could hear Frodo singing as well, but that all came down when Merry slipped, grabbing Pippin and crashing down on Frodo. The tavern burst into laughter, the loudest being those who had fallen.

The moment Sev's eyes met Frodo's, they both halted. Sev grasped the counter to stay in place, and Frodo tore his gaze away.

Rosie looked back at Sam once the tavern quieted. "He's too shy, and he's still a boy. He's not a man yet."

"How else would you test him?" Sev insisted. "He's a sweet man, as you've pointed out."

Rosie sighed. "He's too young in his heart, Seville. He has things to learn."

Sev cringed at the mention of her full name. Ever since Bilbo and Gandalf left, she hadn't heart it from any but Rosie. That concept contributed (in a small way) to why she preferred Frodo's company to anyone else's.

Sev reasoned with herself that, even if Rosie insisted Sam didn't have the traits of a man quite yet, she still loved him. Every time he walked into the Green Dragon—with Frodo or Gaffer, depending on if Sev had come early—Rosie would perk up almost unnoticeably. Sev cackled to herself every time, although kept away from Rosie as not to hinder the reaction.

Finally she considered a reply. "He's no less than the rest of the hobbits, probably more."

Rosie shook her head. "I could never be with a typical hobbit."

"But you flirt with them—?"

"I accept their words," Rosie said, ever the pragmatic diplomat, "but I love none of them. Sam is more, but there is something troubling him, something I know is coming. How it will, I don't know."

Sev still didn't entirely understand, and wondered if Rosie even understood her own words.

Three weeks later they were staring at each other again. Sev's gaze shot between them until she could hear Frodo singing, and her eyes lifted as he danced around the table. Merry and Pippin were both semi-solidly locked onto the wooden rise, so they wouldn't likely fall.

Frodo didn't dare turn around. He knew the moment he took ale from Rosie and began singing all eyes would turn to the table, possibly including Sev's. He wanted to look at her, but didn't dare risk it again.

After the song finished, Sev turned back to work. She listened carefully as some of the older hobbits began to discuss rumors of war. Frodo only perked up, away from one table and headed to Sam's, when he heard Gaffer: "You're beginning to sound like that old Bilbo Baggins. Cracked, he was!"

Another hobbit chuckled. "Young Mr. Frodo here; he's crackin'!"

Sev watched, curious, as Frodo turned with the ale he'd brought and set it down on the table. "And I'm proud of it! Cheers, Gaffer!" After all, Frodo gathered he'd have to be cracked to read every day . . . much less spend every minute of it with someone crazy like Sev. But he enjoyed the craziness somehow.

Sev wondered at him being cracked, how she had never liked anyone less than eccentric.

"Well, it's none of our business what goes on beyond our borders!" Gaffer turned to Frodo. "Just keep your nose out of trouble, and no trouble will come to you!" Frodo nodded in affirmation and took a drink.

Sev shook her head, eyebrows drawing together as she washed out mugs intently. The idea of Frodo in trouble haunted her. She sat back against the counter.

She and Rosie took their places by the door, as Rosie felt socially capable enough to wish the men a good night as they departed. Sev always wished to go home, but knowing what drunk hobbits could do with themselves she didn't want Rosie getting hurt. So she stood watched . . . and occasionally received a flirtation, usually from Merry or Pippin (most hobbits were too afraid of her to attempt). In theory she didn't appreciate it; but as Frodo watched her—in practice—she couldn't help but seem to enjoy it. But neither said anything as they left; both were a little too drunk.

Frodo didn't leave until almost the last of the hobbits had walked out. Sam didn't want to leave either, if only for fearing Rosie standing at the door. So Sam and Frodo gravitated to opposite sides of the door, nervously stepping over the threshold. He smiled at Sev and wished Rosie a good night. Rosie turned to Sam with her farewell, and Sev seemed not to know where to turn.

Soon, Nonno came to the door, and sweepingly descended to one knee before Rosie. Frodo and Sam turned back to watch. "Good night, sweet maiden of the golden ale!" he flourished. Sev resisted laughing while Rosie smiled, somewhat condescendingly, and thanked him.

"Oi, watch who you're sweetalking," Sam muttered. Sev clamped her mouth shut.

Frodo's response only made her laugh harder. "Don't worry, Sam," he said in all honesty. "Rosie knows a nitwit when she sees one."

Sam stopped abruptly. "Does she?"

Frodo laughed a little, pulling Sam forward with an arm around his shoulders. "You are no nitwit, Sam, anyone as good as Rosie could see that." He clapped Sam's shoulder, and the latter hobbit went stumbling home while Frodo ascended into Bag End.

An overwhelming air of darkness greeted Frodo as he cautiously opened the door. Nothing looked amiss, and yet Frodo could feel a presence inside. He crept forward, only to have a hand grab his shoulder urgently. He spun around, and Gandalf's exhausted face met him.

"Is it safe?" the wizard hissed.

Frodo lit a few candles and started up the fireplace before turning hastily to the chest. He didn't understand Gandalf's urgency, but didn't want to push the wizard. He slipped the envelope out from the bottom and handed it to Gandalf; in turn the wizard abruptly threw it into the fireplace.

"What are you doing?!" Frodo cried as the paper popped and hissed, pulling back to reveal the circlet of pure gold. The charring flakes quickly vanished, leaving the exposed metal while Gandalf carefully removed the ring with a pair of tongs. After inspecting it for a moment, he said, "Hold out your hand, Frodo."

Frodo turned to him, a little surprised. Gandalf held out the ring. "It's quite cool," he added.

The hobbit hesitantly held out his hand. Gandalf dropped the ring into his palm; the icy chill of the metal surprised Frodo, and he flinched just a little.

Gandalf set the tongs aside and walked a small distance away. "Do you see anything?"

Frodo turned the ring over and over in his fingers. "Nothing," he said. "There's nothing—wait." A few moments after he picked it up, sharp, fiery letters carved into the ring on all sides, glowing with a white fire. "It's some kind of Elvish," he said. "I can't read it."

Gandalf's tone grew grim and dark. "Very few can. The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here."

Frodo resisted gawking. "Mordor?"

The wizard inhaled slowly. "In the common tongue it says, 'One Ring to rule them all . . . One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."

Gandalf urged Frodo to make some tea, relax them both, before he launched into further explanation. "This is the One Ring."

As Gandalf revealed the history, Frodo realized Bilbo had found it in Gollum's cave; the dormancy of the Ring, Gandalf told him, was ended. Before he could explain further, however, a sharp, urgent knock at the door silenced them both. Frodo exhaled; it sounded like Sev's knock.

Sev watched Frodo and Sam walk away, listening to them talk about Rosie. As Rosie bid her a goodnight and pinched out the candles within the building, Sev wondered if she could ever be a Rosie for Frodo. At least, for Sam, he had mutual attraction. Sev had no such thing.

And yet everything Frodo had done within the last year . . .

"No attraction," she muttered to herself. "Just friends." But she couldn't help thinking about those pauses when he took her hand, about being kissed on the forehead so softly, so very gently, every night. Her fingers and face tingled at the thought. She wondered when Frodo would grow an attachment, and how she would deal with it. "I guess I don't have to worry about it until we get there—,"

She kicked a pebble ahead of her on the path back to Bag End, but the whickering of a strong battle horse snapped her out of paralysis. She looked up to see a strong, bay mare busily chewing grass in the party field, and her heart dropped with dread.

"No," she moaned, racing up the trail to Bag End. "No, no, no . . ." Anyone could be in there. She tried to assure herself some friend had come, but Gandalf would be the only possibility. No other friends of Frodo rode a horse half that size. She knocked rapidly, her palms already pricking, praying Frodo would be all right.

"Come in," Frodo said.

Gandalf abruptly cut him off as Sev opened the door. "Frodo Baggins, visitors during a discussion of this nature—,"

Sev slipped her head in; Frodo could feel himself sighing with relief, not only at having someone trustworthy inside but just for seeing her after this mess with the Ring. Gandalf paused. She stopped as well.

"Seville?" he asked.

She nodded, resigned to knowing she wouldn't be welcome until they were finished. Gandalf lifted his hand to wave her inside, and she began to back out.

"Come in, girl," he said, shaking his head. "Tell me things have been all right."

Sev stepped inside. Frodo couldn't help but feel something between the wizard and Sev had happened that he wasn't aware of. She turned to Gandalf, eyeing the Ring and Frodo's perplexed expression before responding.

"Sev," Gandalf said, growing somewhat impatient.

Sev nodded, tearing her gaze from Frodo. She had to admit she'd gotten a little bit lost just looking at him. "Things have been all right with us, Gandalf. Leastwise, from what I understand." She looked at Frodo a little questioningly, but she knew nothing had happened with just the two of them in any dangerous way. Frodo eyed her curiously, wondering what the two of them were talking about, but she eyed the Ring and spoke before he could ask. "But I fear things have not been all right with you."

Gandalf's head bowed, and Sev's eyebrow shot up, adrenaline racing through her. Something wanted Frodo; she could feel it. "You've heard of the One Ring?"

She nodded. Willation had drilled the old saying into her before leaving; he told her all the dangers of Middle Earth on their way through the tunnels. "One Ring to rule them all." Frodo's heart sank; she and Gandalf had both known something was wrong, and both knew this Ring. "One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the—,"

Even while reciting Sev could feel the air darkening, could see Frodo's expression sink. All three present turned to Bilbo's Ring on the table.

"No," Sev whispered. Her resolve crumpled. She wanted to break the thing, wanted to watch it melt, wanted to send it with a seething letter back to Willation and have him destroy it atom by atom. He had told her the dangers of the Ring . . . and they now belonged to Frodo. Her Frodo. "No!" She hissed and slipped back. Frodo watched her, concerned, as a red light illuminated behind her pupils and her eyebrows grew close together. Her fingers tightened about the wall, strained and tense.

Sev wouldn't sit down to listen to the rest of Gandalf's explanation. She paced, although quiet about it. Her eyes flickered from the Ring to Frodo to Gandalf and back to Frodo, as though the Ring had already taken him. She watched Gandalf as he spoke, eyed the Ring with dark, livid contempt. But when she turned to Frodo she grew protective, almost motherly in a guardian sort of way. Her growing anxiety pressed on Frodo.

Gandalf told Frodo Sauron had but to find this Ring and he would be impossible to defeat; all of Middle Earth would fall to darkness.

Almost immediately Frodo had a solution worked out in his head. Bury it, like it had been for thousands of years. "All right, then," he said, grabbing the Ring while Sev flinched, "we hide it! We'll put it away." He walked briskly into the living room, but as Gandalf followed him Sev knew it could not be done. She hung her head. They would find it. They would find Frodo. Her grip on the wall's edge tightened. They couldn't have him. "We never speak of it again! No one knows it's here, do they?"

Neither Sev nor Gandalf had jumped onto Frodo's logic, so he turned, realizing something must have happened. "Do they, Gandalf?"

Sev slipped into the room, and Frodo beckoned her to his side. Gandalf inhaled slowly. "There was one other who knew about the Ring. I searched everywhere for the creature Gollum, but the enemy found him first. I don't know how or for how long they tortured him, but amidst the babbles and screams they discerned two words."

"Shire," Frodo whispered, simultaneous with Sev's growl. "Baggins!"

Frodo held the Ring out to Gandalf, and Sev felt her heart settle a little. "Take it, Gandalf!"

"I cannot!" Gandalf insisted, backing away. Sev frowned.

"Gandalf, you must take it!" he insisted.

"Gandalf!" Sev reasoned. She stepped closer to Frodo as she spoke, and the warmth breached his side . . . combated the Ring somehow. "For Zincarna's sake, Frodo is a hobbit! The Ring is not meant to—!"

"Do not tempt me, either of you!" Gandalf thundered. Sev initially grabbed Frodo's arm, although for his protection or hers she didn't know. Frodo laid his free hand over hers. "I would bear this Ring with the intention of doing good . . . but through me, it would perform an evil too great to imagine."

"But it cannot stay in the Shire!" Frodo insisted. Sev's eyes closed, for they now had but one option.

Gandalf gravely admitted it couldn't.

Frodo backed away, closing his fingers around the Ring. Sev's hand tightened ever so slightly on Frodo. She could feel the Ring already nipping at Frodo, trying to rip him apart. She wouldn't let it happen.

Her heart froze when his words came out: "What must I do?"


	9. Get Out of the Shire

Gandalf sent him into a flurry of packing. "You must leave the Shire immediately."

Sev gathered Frodo's things as well; she didn't need food and no roll to sleep within. "Where?" Frodo asked. "Where do I go?"

"The Prancing Pony, in Bree," Gandalf said, turning to Sev. "Don't forget it."

"Bree, Prancing Pony," she repeated to herself, throwing a staff to Frodo. He caught it and continued. "Where will you be?" she said, almost demanded, for she did not want anything to happen to Frodo, and wanted to know where Gandalf would be if she needed him.

"I am off to see the head of my order," Gandalf said. "He is both wise and powerful. He will know what to do with the Ring." Then he turned back to Frodo. "And stay off the road," he warned. Sev made a note of the same as Frodo said, "We can go across country easily enough."

Gandalf slipped Frodo's cloak over his shoulders and his pack over that. Sev winced; she couldn't imagine being so compacted. Her vest remained unbuttoned, her white shirt loose. Even at night dresses were too confining. She took no pack.

"You'll have to leave the name Baggins behind you," Gandalf said. "It isn't safe outside the Shire." Then he turned to Sev. "Take the same last name, Seville. Another one would do you no good."

Sev turned light gray and her eyes slipped shut. Frodo watched her curiously. "Yes, sir," she muttered. Frodo wondered at the sudden sheepish expression beneath her closed eyes, but turned back to Gandalf.

"Frodo . . . my brave hobbit," Gandalf said. Frodo smiled at him brilliantly, and Sev couldn't help but grin at the sight. Frodo had such a smile. "You can learn all there is to know about hobbits in a few months, and after a hundred years they can still surprise you."

 _This hobbit especially_ , Sev thought. Only the most queer and quirky of hobbits would ever have considered her a friend . . . and she would only consider a friend of a kind, gentle, strong hobbit.

An air of respect settled on the room, but quickly departed at a rustle outside the window.

"Get down," Gandalf hissed, and Frodo abruptly dropped to the floor. Sev fingered a dagger at her side, crouching near enough to Frodo but within good throwing distance of the window. Gandalf slipped his staff out the window, then cracked it down.

"Ow!"

Sev lowered her knife even as Gandalf's hand shot out of the window and threw Sam onto the table nearby, scattering papers and books everywhere. Sam trembled as Gandalf berated him.

"Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee, have you been eavesdropping?!" he roared.

Sam only shook harder. "I-I ain't been droppin' no eaves, sir, honest!" Sev brought Frodo to his feet. "I was just gardening the grass under the window there, if you follow me!"

"A little late to be trimming the verge, don't you think?" Gandalf said somewhat sarcastically.

"I heard raised voices," Sam protested.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed while he surveyed Sam. "What have you heard? Speak!"

Sam shivered. "N-nothing much, just something about a Ring and a Dark Lord and something about the end of the world. Don't be angry, Mr. Gandalf! And don't turn me into anything . . . unnatural."

"No," Gandalf said, glancing up at Frodo. Frodo swelled with mild anticipation; at least Sam would be coming too. Sev felt comforted as well, knowing this would make her fear less: one more pair of eyes to watch Frodo. Gandalf bent over the hobbit. "I've thought of a better use for you," he said.

"Hurry, Samwise Gamgee! You must keep up."

They set out early the next morning, and Sev had the phrase stuck in her head from the first moment. As she gripped the horse's saddle she glanced down at Frodo. He kept pace reasonably well, and she wondered if Gandalf had set her astride the mare because he thought she couldn't walk quickly.

Gandalf had offered Sev the horse, but to most she didn't seem to notice. She simply thought Gandalf meant to be courteous, but didn't want to refuse. She just stared at the Ring; something of it called to her in a wispy, ominous voice.

The wizard grunted and beckoned to Frodo. He stepped forward, unsure what Gandalf wanted, and Sev jolted out of her trance.

"Get on the horse, Sev," Gandalf said. "I don't need it for some time."

Sev inclined her head, hoping Gandalf didn't just mean it out of grudging kindness. She didn't want to be a hindrance in any way. "I thank you, Gandalf, but I'll need practice with my feet. If anything, Frodo or Sam could use the horse."

Sam stepped up quietly. "I think he set aside the horse for the lady, Ms. Sev."

Sev nodded, almost wanting to believe Gandalf would let her save her strength. But she couldn't help protect Frodo from such a vantage point. "I thank you all the same, sir," she said, turning to start them off. At a nod from Gandalf, Frodo stepped forward—followed quickly by Sam—to put Sev on the horse. The moment Frodo's hands settled gently on Sev's waist she easily slipped onto Gandalf's horse. Gandalf nodded again to Frodo, and they moved on from there.

Sev curled up against the saddle as she remembered when Frodo reached for her. She turned to look at him after, noticed his face turning bright pink. She shook it off. "No attraction," she muttered again.

After the sun began to rise, Gandalf led the hobbits into a wood some distance from any main roads. Sev could see what she had made to be the path to Bree (based on the maps she had studied all night) nearby, and accordingly slipped off the horse. Gandalf glanced up.

"I suppose here's as good a place as any." Gandalf turned to Frodo then, kneeling down before him. "Is it safe?" he muttered.

Frodo felt his pocket, the vibrating Ring . . . which seemed to tremble whenever Sev neared. That made two of them. Sev flinched when his fingers settled gently on his pocket. The Ring twisted something deep down, something she couldn't place and had never felt before. She felt the urge to drain it overwhelming her, and she feared the pains that would arise all through their journey to Bree.

Gandalf gripped Frodo's shoulder. "Never put it on." He glanced at Sev, and she affirmed her promise to protect Frodo with a simple, yet powerful, nod. Then he spun, mounted his horse, and bounded away.

Frodo turned to Sam. Sev tried to approach them both, but suddenly succumbed to spasms and fiery shivers. Claws seemed to harrow over her hands, on her heart. Her lungs heaved, and she leaned on the staff Frodo had loaned her. He turned back to her, shocked at her sudden convulsions as she dropped to one knee. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't respond. Sam leaned forward to ask as well, but Sev's head rose, and she stood. She glanced at Frodo's hand on her shoulder, wondering why it had gotten there.

"I'm all right," she assured, and they turned to be gone. Sam tried to ask her a few times what was wrong, but Sev wouldn't have it. She insisted they need not concern themselves, and eventually asked Sam about Rosie—if he had kissed her cheek in farewell. Sam suddenly quieted and backed away. Frodo turned to Sev, asking Sam's question about Sev's well-being teasingly.

Sev's eyes narrowed, and a dark blush rose to her face as she considered asking Frodo her own. "Well, who did you kiss on the cheek before you left?"

The reply "I didn't have to; you're right here" appeared in Frodo's mind, but he cut it off before he could say anything, closing his mouth. Sev felt she had hit a mark, but not the one she expected. Frodo hesitated, wondering if Sev would've let him kiss her cheek before leaving. Of all the girls in the Shire he had only ever kissed her, even if only on the forehead.

Despite her earlier display of pain, Sev nearly skipped about the empty, unpopulated fields of the Shire, staring wide-eyed at the vistas surrounding her. No one but her, Frodo, and Sam out here. She'd never been social, and she couldn't imagine anything better. White-crested mountains of blue lay off to the distance, and green fields dotted with trees surrounded them.

As they walked peacefully, Sam asked Sev if she wanted him to carry her cloak, for she left it about her shoulders even with the warm sun. Sev insisted she didn't want to be less than an asset . . . and Sam took her cloak, assuring her she meant a great deal to them. Frodo smiled at the glimmer in her eyes as she accepted his compliment.

Soon they came to a cornfield Sev recognized, having followed Frodo and Sam there. Sev walked in front when they took the road single-file; she didn't want anything to happen to Frodo, and Sam somehow gravitated to the back. She and Frodo both halted when Sam spoke abruptly.

"This is it," he said.

Frodo turned back, and Sev followed suit. "This is what?" Frodo asked, searching Sam for his purposes.

Sam bit his lip. "If I take one more step, I'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been."

Frodo smiled. Sev could only imagine him smiling at her so; he had such a tender light to him she never wanted to have snuffed out. She almost wanted to take the Ring and let him be free of it . . . but internally reminded herself it would be too dangerous. To have the Ring would be to kill him and Sam both under its power.

Oblivious to Sev's internal battle, Frodo stepped forward and put his arm around Sam. "Come on, Sam." He turned to Sev as he and Sam began walking. "Remember what Bilbo used to say: 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. If you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to.'"

Sev didn't hear Bilbo in him, just him talking to her as though warning her for something she'd already done: leaving Sheratan, daring to take the step off of Atansdorre. Yet, she would rather be with Frodo than at home. Frodo had become home. The notion disturbed her, but even as she looked back at him Frodo felt himself feeling more comfortable around her than he ever had with Bilbo.

Soon Sam insisted they stop for a decent meal. Sev sighed and settled against a nearby tree, and Frodo knew what she thought: she didn't like taking meal breaks, spending time when they could be getting to Bree and getting the Ring out of his pocket, as far away from all of them as possible. As a matter of fact, Sev said she would continue to Bree and they could catch up, but Frodo didn't want anyone walking alone, so he asked if she would stay. Besides, he would have gone with her (perhaps) over Sam, but didn't want the latter to get lost either.

Sev built a fire and Sam began cooking sausage and bacon. Frodo climbed up in the fork of a tree to read. It was the book he'd read the day of his birthday; Sev read it three times since then, but still slipped up into the tree after him to watch over his shoulder. She didn't think he knew she had climbed up, but Frodo could feel her warmth behind him, and it distracted him almost into not reading anything.

Soon Frodo reached a proposal scene, and his eyes narrowed a little bit. He hadn't read this part before, probably feeling it irrelevant to the story in general—for he hadn't read it in a decade or so. He got to one line: "My lady, thou art my closest companion, and I thine; why wouldst thou hesitate?"

He set the book aside and began smoking as thoughts raced through his head. He picked himself apart until he decided Sev was, indeed, his closest companion, but somehow he couldn't see himself proposing to her. But he cocked his head after a moment. What if he did? How would Sev react?

Sev could see the thought work into his face. He wouldn't pick up the book again, but he had ended when she read the catalyst of the climax. She bored her eyes into his soul . . . as though staring at him would work. It only worked to make her feel relatively powerful and a little vengeful, catharsis for ending the book.

"Devilish," she muttered, sliding from the tree.

When Frodo looked up, shaken from his thoughts, she assumed he hadn't known she was there. He turned to look at her, shivering a little from the departure of warmth. She wore a jocose glare.

"What, the book or the smoking?" he asked with a grin. She didn't approve of smoking, said it equivocated to sticking one's head in a burning building and inhaling the smoky air.

She pointed at him accusatorily. "You. For smoking and not reading."

Frodo set the pipe aside, and Sev had to keep from breathing a sigh of relief. "You would like to finish the story?" he asked, nonchalant. Sev gawked at him; still jocose, he knew, although something deep down spurred the reaction. He laughed regardless.

"Of course!" Sev sputtered. As though that were a question . . . "The blasted villain just crashed through the window and stole Mallia! How on Earth do you stop there?!"

Frodo hesitated, and Sev sidled closer to the tree, staring up at him. He didn't know if he ought to say anything, but he found himself realizing he might ask her. They certainly were the closest of companions, at least in his life. He thought back on everything he did with her. Sev watched him expectantly when he began to speak.

"You know when you told me you would stop reading because a novel reflected, however askewedly, something in your own life?"

Sev lifted an eyebrow, nodding slowly. A crash through the window? Perhaps he felt his life crashed through and his resolve taken by the Ring, but this seemed surprisingly soon to her. Willation said usually the affected carried the Ring for months. Regardless she nodded to his question.

Frodo noted her ponderous furrow. Hopefully she had deduced nothing huge. Frodo sighed and settled back into the tree. "This one is fairly deep, and takes much contemplation."

Curiosity piqued, Sev shuffled closer to Frodo and laid her hands across the tree, her face inches from his own. She had to shove aside the notion that she enjoyed being this close to him, instead attempting to be humorous. The warmth sizzled against Frodo, and he found his thoughts wandering . . . and his gaze found her lips. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her, just for a moment or so. If a kiss to the forehead—after months of doing it—still made the warmth ever so much more powerful, he couldn't imagine something more and how deeply the simplest kiss would affect him. He blinked it back; she might throw him off, and even if she didn't he shouldn't do it anyway. Nothing called for it.

"Must be exciting!" Sev's voice broke him out of his trance, but she couldn't have noticed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What is it?"

For being his best friend Frodo nearly told her. She would expect him to, he knew, but he couldn't say anything, much less the next words on his tongue, "Sev, I would like to kiss you. I think it would say more than I could." He bit this back . . . and instead said, "You would find it less exciting and more a laughing matter." He could imagine saying what he thought, and either she would chuckle nervously and back away or find him absolutely silly. Both were huge possibilities, and he wanted neither. If she could halt the jocoseness long enough to love him . . .

Sev blew a raspberry, determined not to laugh at anything Frodo had to say. His pondering disturbed her. She hoped nothing had gone wrong in his head already. "Troneterra, no!" She lifted her right hand. "I swear at all costs not to laugh, sputter, cough, or giggle at Frodo's current novel dilemma." She lowered her hand and her voice. "Come now, man, what is it?"

He couldn't have known she would be ecstatic to hear his thoughts, particularly concerning loving her. He laughed and shook his head, not sure what to say, but determined he would tell her something—whether it be what she expected to hear or not, whether it be what was actually on his mind or not.

Then Sev perked up, and Frodo listened too. She could hear solemn voices . . . beautiful, Elvish voices on the gentle air. They reached Frodo; he sat up abruptly. "Sam," he whispered. Sam glanced up.

"Wood elves," Sev said, and Frodo nearly said it with her, just a second or so behind.

Frodo leaped down from the tree, and he took off with Sam. Sev followed close until they could see a caravan of graceful, white Elves. All were headed west, and Frodo listened to their song, taking in the mournful words. As Sev slipped into place beside him she could feel their sorrow for the world, how they'd given up on life itself. She felt emotions begin to snap within her: pining for their light, wishing she could give up like they could. Despite the pain in her life she'd never been able to. Her eyes flickered to Frodo; now she had no choice but to live, unless Frodo somehow rejected her. Then she could end herself, end her pain.

"They're going to the harbor beyond the White Towers," Frodo translated reverently. "The Grey Havens."

Sam's voice sounded slightly more epiphanic. "They're leaving Middle Earth . . ."

Sev's words cracked, tinged with fear and sorrow. "Never to return." Frodo turned to her, wondering at the sudden change in her mood, at the pricking tears against her eyes. She couldn't imagine what those Elves could be thinking. They were creatures of such light, such power, such life, such fortune, admired by so many, and they would just throw themselves away. It was almost like Frodo trying to leave, as though he would. But he had so much light; why throw himself away? These creatures had eternal potential for good, and were only setting the example to their inferiors to give up on life if evil became too strong. Right now that meant everyone should go to the Grey Havens and let the orcs run Middle Earth. Evil had always been a part of Sev's life; if Sev could survive this, hopefully anyone could. She contemplated giving up, following the Elves. She really did.

Frodo glanced down at the log, where Sev's fingers tensed about a patch of broken bark. He laid his own fingers over the back of her hand, slipping her skin into the grip of his own. She glanced down at his thumb, tracing against her knuckles (gradients of warmth spread up Frodo's arm at the contact), but said nothing as a sudden desire to protect him flooded her. She couldn't give up until she knew he was safe at home. Gratitude flickered through the despair in her eyes, and she rested her head on the log, savoring his hand with her cheek. It melted his heart to watch her expression grow naïve, as though she needed him in order to live. Which she did.

"I don't know why," Sam said, "it makes me sad."

Frodo didn't either. As they walked away to find smooth campground, though, Sev knew why. The Elves were making a tragedy of themselves, wasting perfect beauty and glory by locking the ones out who really needed it. Perhaps they felt they could not help anyone, but Sev didn't know how they could think it, how they could wish to leave this poor world alone when they could change everything.

Once they set up a fire and some food, Sev slipped away, saying she wanted to retire early. In truth she only wanted to contemplate the Elves more. Could they heal her blackness? If she could heal creatures of light from their darkness could her own darkness ever be taken away?

She turned over, watching Frodo. He talked with Sam, and she followed his eyes as they shimmered in the firelight, heard his laugh echo through the night air, glanced at his gentle fingers that had framed hers. She closed her eyes and held her hand to her heart, as though his thumb were still tracing her knuckles. She could imagine a lifetime that way, and knew she would never leave him, never wanted to. His light and his gentility she would never find anywhere else.

Unless the Ring destroyed him.

Her grip tightened over the collar of her shirt, nails almost digging into herself. She wouldn't let it. Her brows furrowed, and she restlessly rolled over again. Her eyes slammed shut as she imagined Frodo, a dark and savage glare lighting his eyes as he hunched over the Ring. She forced the image away. It only angered and frightened her. The sound of Frodo's voice behind her finally allowed it to dissipate; he was still safe.

Finally Frodo and Sam settled down to sleep, allowing the fire to continue for fear the night would get too cold. Frodo almost mentioned Sev's unnatural, fire-like warmth, but considered the better of it. She would not want to sit up by his side as he rested all night just to warm him while he slept, and Frodo's curiosity regarding what his lips against hers might feel like would keep him awake until he did it once. Then, perhaps, his curiosity would leave him alone.

Soon, luckily enough, Frodo could feel unconsciousness settling over him, drifting across him like one gentle feather of sleep at a time. Then Sam spoke, blowing the feathers all over the ground. Frodo felt too much exhaustion to retrieve them. Frodo had heard tossing, but accepted it as a consistent irregularity and could easily fall asleep to it.

"Anywhere I lie, there's a great, dirty root sticking into my back," Sam groaned. Sev turned over to watch.

Frodo inhaled slowly to speak. The soft earth beckoned his desire to sleep. "Just shut your eyes," Frodo mumbled, "and imagine you're back in your own bed . . . with a soft mattress . . . and a lovely feather pillow." Sev immersed herself in Frodo's description, wondering what a mattress and pillow felt like. She never assumed she would know.

Frodo and Sev both settled into silence again, but soon Sam spoke up, blowing the feathers in all directions again. "It's not working, Mr. Frodo," Sam muttered. "I'll never get any sleep out here."

Sev watched, amused, as a sweet, tired smile stretched over Frodo's face, draining the last of his energy for the day. "Me neither, Sam." Sev stifled a chuckle and whispered a good night to them both as Sam stuffed another sausage in his mouth.

Surprised, Frodo glanced up at Sev. He thought she'd fallen asleep a long time before. He smiled at her; his eyes caught her off guard, and she just smiled back initially. He hoped their friendship could become something more. Sev finally rolled over, not able to watch him for fear the Ring would take his light away. She wouldn't have it.


	10. Race to Bree

The next morning they approached the edge of the Shire, down by the Brandywine River and Buckleberry Ferry. Once they reached Farmer Maggot's cornfield, Frodo decided Sev might not be tired enough to carry conversation. So he initiated one with a question about a book they'd read recently, and Sev went right along with it rather well. They laughed rather openly, until Sev heard Sam behind her and quieted. Frodo followed suit.

"Mr. Frodo? Ms. Sev? Mr. Frodo? Frodo!"

Frodo turned back and around the corner.

"It's all right, Sam," Sev said, giving him a look: Frodo's safe.

Sam exhaled hard. "I thought I'd lost you."

Frodo lifted an eyebrow, and Sev felt worry creeping up on her. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just something Gandalf said," Sam admitted.

Frodo cocked his head a little, unsure of anything Gandalf would have to say. "What did he say?" Sev felt almost chagrined at being, perhaps, overbearing in wishing to protect him. He did have Sam, after all, and they were more than halfway to Bree. She made a mental note to back off, and did so physically. Frodo shot her a look, unsure at either of his friends. But the warmth left with her, and so he wished she wouldn't stay away.

Sam stepped forward slowly. "He said, 'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I don't mean to."

Frodo chuckled a little. "Sam, we're still in the Shire! What could possibly happen?"

The moment his words were out, something barreled powerfully into his side, throwing him to the ground. Sev leaned forward to drag him to his feet, but something else slammed into her.

"Frodo!" Pippin sat up over Frodo, surveying the hobbit as though no harm had been done. And Frodo realized Pippin undoubtedly didn't care. "Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!"

"Hello, Frodo," Merry said cheerfully. Sev wriggled beneath the latter hobbit, having starkly felt her personal-space bubble pop. She shoved her feet beneath him, lifting him off of her. She abruptly stood while Sam yanked Pippin off of Frodo. Sev extended a hand and Frodo took it; she brought him to his feet.

Her warmth traveled up Frodo's arm, and without thinking about it too hard he didn't let her hand go. Sev didn't let go either, but the moment both became conscious of the moment she stiffened. Her fingers slipped out of Frodo's as his grip slackened, knowing he couldn't possibly keep it.

So he turned back to Pippin and Merry, eyeing the vegetables they were piling into Sam's arms. Sev didn't take any, backing away slowly. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked dangerously.

Merry piled Sam's arms with carrots. "Hold these, will you?"

"You've been into—,"

"—Farmer Maggot's crop!" Sev, to start the statement, sounded accusatory while Sam sounded epiphanic.

Before either Pippin or Merry could respond (or Sev could clunk each in the face with one of their own cabbages), barks and shouts rose from the cornfield behind them. Pippin took off, and Sev grabbed Frodo's hand as she dashed inside. Merry followed, as did Sam after hastily throwing his bundle aside.

"I don't know what he's upset about!" Merry protested. Frodo nearly tripped over his own feet at the pace Sev pulled him through the corn; fear did not drive her, however, just adrenaline at having taken Frodo's hand so initially that she wanted to get out of there before he noticed. "It's only a few carrots!"

"And some cabbages." Sev hissed when Pippin nearly halted to turn and speak to Merry while he dashed forward. "And the bag of potatoes we left last week; and those mushrooms the week before!"

Sev resisted rolling her eyes. _Hobbits._

"Yes, Pippin! My point is, he's clearly overreacting!"

Sev abruptly pulled to a halt as Pippin stopped at the edge of a steep drop. Merry slammed into Pippin, followed by Frodo, and Sam catalyzed their fall. Sev released Frodo's hand and rolled away from the hobbits to tumble down the hill alone. The rest collapsed in heaps, landing on top of each other as Sev rolled off to the side. However she tried, she still slipped into the same path as the hobbits as they neared the end, and she fell the rest of the way with them. Her head unrolled right next to Frodo's shoulder, and he only felt the warmth for a moment before she scrambled to her feet.

Pippin started from underneath the pile. "Oh. That was close." Merry rolled off his back. "I think I've broken something." He produced a thick carrot, and Sev snickered as she backed away. Frodo stood and backed away from his companions.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Took," Sam muttered, brushing himself off.

Merry did so as well. "What? That was just a detour . . . a shortcut!"

"Shortcut to what?" Sam said doubtfully.

Pippin gasped loudly. "Mushrooms!" he cried.

Immediately the three hobbits were scrambled to their feet, Pippin and Merry using Sam as physical leverage to get up. They raced to the mushrooms, piling them in sacks.

Sev glanced up at Frodo. He heard a noise . . . as though the earth were moaning in pain, dying even as it warned. Sev didn't hear the sound, but she could feel something approaching. As her gaze turned to the road, a darkness begged to drain her of her toxins and soak them in for itself, add to its blackness. The pains attacked her—those sharp, burning convulsions—and she collapsed to one knee, gasping to hold back tears.

She recovered quickly enough to hear him say, "I think we should get off the road." Frodo stared at the hobbits beside him, but they didn't seem to care for his warning. He turned back to the main road as Sev struggled to her feet. He turned to help her up . . . but then the earth moaned again, louder.

Frodo's gaze shot back to the trees beyond even as he moved to kneel by Sev. Sev glanced up as well while she shoved the pains away. Space itself bent, as though it were trying to run away but had nowhere to go. The odd illusion in the distance spread eerie fingers of wind that stirred the leaves at Frodo's feet.

"Get off the road!" he insisted. "Quick!" He and Sev leaped under the nearest tree root, and the other hobbits followed somewhat carelessly. As they all piled beneath the earth, three of the hobbits began bickering a little over the mushrooms they'd found.

Everything of their movements halted when the heavy hooves and labored breathing of a powerful battlehorse filled the forest air. Sev had to push back a growl at the darkness of this being now so close by. She turned back to inspect the horse and saw a black stallion with savage eyes; black liquid of an unidentifiable origin dripped down its legs and over its hooves.

Frodo glanced up when two armor-shod feet swung down from the horse and claimed the ground. The earth seemed to shiver within Frodo, and as the warrior's armored fingers crunched down on a tree root above him he could feel those tremors within the Ring as well.

Something begged him to put it on.

The blackness overtook Sev again, and she slumped into Frodo's side trying to fight the pain back. When her eyes flickered open, Frodo already had the Ring in his hand and slowly began moving it towards his beckoning pointer finger. Terrified, Sev grabbed his wrist. Warmth carved through the influence of the darkness, and Frodo quickly concealed the Ring.

The rider above them let out an epiphanic hiss, but when Merry threw his bag as far as it would go the intruder shrieked, chasing the sound with its horse. The hobbits scrambled out of the tree root, racing along in scattered order among the trees until they had run far enough away to avoid being heard by the black rider.

Merry, Pippin and Sam all collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. Sev stood off to the side, feeling lost: getting to Bree wouldn't be as easy as it had been, although the short distance between them and their destination gladdened her.

"What was that?" Merry demanded.

Frodo glanced down at the Ring in his palm . . . he knew now more of its dangers, and only felt so much more inclined to get rid of it.

Before he could respond to Merry, the black rider's shriek rang out through the woods again. "Move!" Sev hissed. "Come on!" The hobbits began running again, dodging trees as they tried to avoid the black rider.

Night approached quickly, and Merry halted the group for a moment. Frodo stumbled against a nearby tree; Sev didn't mean to stand next to him, but happened to seek rest from the same tree. Frodo nestled a little bit in the warmth beside him until Merry stepped up to him.

"Frodo? That thing . . . I think it's looking for something." He sounded accusatory, and a growl built up in Sev's throat as she settled a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Or someone." Sev's eyes darkened, but Frodo did not fear Merry.

He turned to the other hobbit, only exhausted and wishing to get home. "Sam and I must get to Bree," he said. He found no more room for explanation, not yet.

Merry's brow furrowed, and Sev relaxed. "Buckleberry Ferry," Merry whispered. "Come."

No sooner did they spring back into the woods than did they have to duck as a black rider crested the hill above them. The rider's horse snorted, carefully prowling the scent of the air for Frodo, for the Ring.

Merry turned them aside, only to run right in to the rider. The horse noised angrily, rearing up as its rider searched the hobbits from its vantage point. Sev hissed at the horse, drawing her sword as the other hobbits turned away. She managed to nick its leg before she would have gotten trampled. She turned and raced after her companions.

Frodo had somehow managed to wind up at the back of the group in dodging the black rider's horse, and Sev rolled her eyes. If anything, the others should have taken the initiative in protecting him, but she realized they were probably concerned enough for themselves. She could take it. She'd be useless if he had three others invested so heavily in his survival.

Sev had just cleared the fence all four hobbits managed to cross, but Pippin had already unhitched the ferry from its dock. The wooden raft began to float away as they shouted frightened encouragement to Frodo. Frodo turned to see the black rider tearing across the dock towards him and Sev.

Sev grabbed Frodo's shoulders and threw him forward even as she jumped. Both rolled against the planks of the raft, and when Sev sat up she watched the rider's horse abruptly halt before the river. It reared back angrily. The rider turned it away, and Sev's eyes widened in horror at the sight of their enemy joining three others identical to it.

"How far to the nearest crossing?" Sev insisted, turning back to Merry.

He began rowing, pushing them to Bree, to the end of this excursion. "Brandywine Bridge, 20 miles."

20 miles. They would be all right, Sev decided.

Frodo settled against the ferry. The Ring pulled on his pocket, and now this new weight of the black riders piled on it as though physically there. Sev could see his exhaustion, but couldn't have felt better for him still being alive and safe. Willation had warned her against the Ring: "For you and for most others, Sev, the One Ring is the most dangerous force of Middle Earth. Beware it, should you chance upon it."

She had. And she could feel its pull. Instead she knelt next to Frodo. He shivered against the chill of night, trying to calm his heart and lungs from the race against riders he did not know, but feared regardless.

Sev laid a hand on his shoulder, calming both of them and warming him. He laid his head against her hand, felt the heat from her clamber into his head and numb him to the dangers of the outside world. Sev could feel the beat of his heart surging through his thick, curly hair. Frodo was alive and in one piece; to have the Ring, Sev couldn't ask for more. Somehow he had managed to survive its influence and dangers thus far, more than she ever could have predicted.

He fell asleep there.


	11. A Ranger for a Guide

Sev left him periodically to row—in fact to take his shifts rowing—but he didn't notice. Whenever she returned to him she lifted him from the cold wood of the raft and into her arms, resting his head on her shoulder. He had since they begun quieted, but the pulse of life within him kept Sev beyond worry's reach, so she pressed to feel it.

Once he woke up she backed away, as he was still too entangled in sleep to notice she'd been holding him so closely. As soon as she slept Frodo managed to row for some time, allowing Merry and Pippin off to the side. Sam might have resisted if he'd gotten any sleep for the night, but had not so far, and so drifted away. Frodo took his moments completely alone to fear the Ring, and only hope they made it to Bree as quickly as possible. He stood near Sev, taking her warmth into his feet. He knelt down next to her resting form once the current seemed to carry them well enough, and his fingers brushed the hair out of her face. Warmth scattered up his arm like excited fireflies; he backed away before he wanted to do so.

Only when it began to rain did the other hobbits awaken, although Sev remained stock-still as the others hastily drew hoods over their heads. Merry quickly grabbed the oar from Frodo as Sev sat up. She turned to Pippin and asked under her breath if Frodo had done any rowing.

Pippin's only response to that was "No harm has been done."

She didn't quite understand, but she didn't ask and stood up to take the oar from Merry. They were near Bree; she could feel it . . . or at least she hoped she could. Before she could do anything, Merry docked against the side of the river, and Sam tied the raft down on the shore.

The rain, having begun earlier, suddenly began to pour hard. The hobbits pulled their hoods hard over themselves, and Frodo tried to subtly stick close to Sev; her warmth easily kept him dry. It perplexed him when the other hobbits seemed to keep their distance from her, and Frodo wondered if they were still intimidated by her.

When the five of them reached Bree's wooden city wall, Frodo stepped up to the main door to knock, but Sev covered it first. While she had no intention of speaking to any strangers, she did wish to help in whatever way she could. Then she stepped back and fingered the hilt of her dagger, waiting. A sheet of wood far above the hobbits' heads creaked open, revealing an elderly man with a lantern. He peered into the darkness.

"Who goes there?" he asked in a strong accent.

"We are hobbits of the Shire," Frodo said loudly, and the man finally looked down. He slipped the wooden sheet closed and ducked down to open one on Frodo's level. "We seek refuge at the inn of the Prancing Pony."

"Queer to have five hobbits out of the Shire at a time like this," the stranger mused. "What's your business in Bree?"

"Our business is our own," Frodo insisted.

"All right, all right, didn't mean to offend ye, little master," the man said. "Just strange folk been goin' about." He closed the smaller peek-door and opened the gate.

As she watched for the Prancing Pony, Sev dryly considered how a stranger could possibly be suspicious of "strange folk" if he knew anything about the people in Bree. Towering men shoved into Frodo, and shorter ones fingered Sev's hair and shoulders with dark chuckles. She hissed at them. Most would back away, but some pinched her cheek as they continued walking. She almost bit one for fear less would not keep her safe.

Frodo turned to at least make sure nothing had harmed her, but then she grabbed his shoulder and gestured ahead.

"The Prancing Pony," she muttered, and Frodo followed her gaze to a somewhat sinister-looking sign bearing a rearing horse and the name of the inn, all painted in fading gold. The hobbits dashed through the street, and Sev held the door open for them to enter.

Warmth—only in the most limited sense—reached them once they stepped inside. The men within (loud and abrasive) only frightened Sev more, and she stayed close to Frodo as the other hobbits lowered their hoods. Sev refused to, keeping hunched over. She still received odd glances, but refused to internalize them.

Frodo stepped up to the main counter, and Sev hastily followed. "Excuse me," Frodo called out over the clamor of the inn. An elderly fellow, Mr. Butterbur by way of what Sev recalled about Bree, bent over the desk, peering around until he spotted Frodo far below the level of where he'd been searching.

Mr. Butterbur greeted the hobbits and proceeded to outline the "nice accommodations for little folk, Mr. . . .?"

Frodo paused. "Underhill. My name is Underhill."

Mr. Butterbur nodded, although he looked a little skeptical.

Frodo continued. "We're friends of Gandalf the Grey; can you tell him we've arrived?"

Mr. Butterbur halted. "Gandalf?" He mused to himself for a frightening moment before epiphany crossed his face. "Oh, yes! He's an older fellow . . . long, grey beard, pointy hat." Frodo smiled and nodded hopefully, but halted when Mr. Butterbur concluded: "I haven't seen him around here for six months."

Frodo thanked him slowly and sank away from the counter. The hobbits began to huddle, and Pippin pulled Sev into the group of hobbits although she attempted to back out. She ended up sandwiched between Pippin's arm and Frodo's. She felt a blush running madly to her face, and didn't say anything. Frodo dried off quickly with her warmth nearby, and pulled her slightly away from Pippin. She glared at them both, although neither noticed enough or cared enough to let go.

"What do we do now?" Merry asked under his breath.

The consensus—headed by Pippin and joined by Merry, Sam, and eventually Frodo—was to get ale. Sev declined, wishing to keep her head. Besides, she'd tried ale once and understood perfectly why Rosie never took any for herself. Had the mood been lighter Pippin might have teased Sev about it.

The five were seated by Butterbur at a huge table and quickly offered mugs of ale bigger than Sev's head. She stared at them suspiciously as they were dispensed among the hobbits; she didn't trust anything about this place, particularly since men kept staring at her. She hissed, and some backed away.

Noting the benches weren't too long, Sev turned to go look for Gandalf . . . but Frodo didn't want her to leave too, so he gently grabbed her hand. She turned back to him. Noting the moment of loss in his eyes, she remained with him. She couldn't do much, didn't dare do much; sharing a bench with Frodo and Sam, she was shoved against the former to avoid falling off the edge. Frodo didn't mind it, as a matter of fact felt her closeness combating the Ring, combating the growing apprehension at Gandalf's absence.

Even when the mugs came out, Sev watched Merry slip away back to the bar. Sev glanced after him and the eyes following the halfling, then turned to shift her gaze to Frodo. Being so close she could see little until she noticed the darkness clouding his face. He fingered his mug and his thoughts muddled within him: worry for Gandalf, a growing purr of the Ring in his pocket, uncertainty about the future, fear lurking at every corner with enemies and ruffians on the rise.

Gandalf had to come.

Frodo didn't realize his thoughts decided to vocalize themselves. "He'll be here, Sev. He has to come."

Merry came back, but Frodo didn't notice. Sev glanced up at the hobbit, who eyed his enormous, foaming mug hungrily. When he sat down with a moan of ecstasy, Pippin spun to face him. "What is that?" He gawked.

Merry only flicked his gaze away from his precious mug for a moment. "This, my friend, is a pint!" He immediately turned and proceeded to bury his nose in his prize.

"It comes in pints?" Pippin's mouth opened wider as Merry made a distracted noise of pleasurable affirmation. Pippin set his sights on the bar. "I'm getting one."

Sev's eyes slipped closed as Sam tried to stop the relentless hobbit; getting drunk wouldn't help any of them, but at least Frodo hadn't even touched his. He stared distantly at the table. "He has to come, Sev."

Sev felt her sympathy growing, and her desire to protect the hobbit that mattered more to her than anything. She didn't want to watch him fall. Her fingers slipped over his shoulder, probing his back. Frodo's eyes flickered with the gentle warmth prodding the stress out of him. It lulled him to a gentle numbness; the cold fought with her warmth too hard to let it be anything better or more.

Sev's hackles raised when Sam tapped Frodo's shoulder, and he jolted. Her hand braced carefully against his shoulder, almost no longer present. Sam pointed past Sev. "That fellow's been nothing but staring at you since we arrived."

Sev only could process, _Sam, you're not helping his stress_ before Frodo turned to her. Their noses almost touched before she looked away, into the corner where Sam had pointed. As Frodo tore his gaze from Sev, near as she was, to look up as well. Both pairs of eyes caught a hooded stranger, cold and haunting in the corner. He sat somewhat casually, and Sev immediately distrusted the look of him: how his legs crossed, the pipe in his mouth, the shadow of his eyes, the thin beard on his face.

Frodo leaned over Sev to catch Mr. Butterbur. Sev bent forward, but that only resulted in Frodo laying his arm across her shoulders once he caught the bartender's attention. The warmth calmed him, and she rested there, hoping he'd be all right.

"Excuse me," he said. Butterbur leaned over Sev, and she grew apprehensive. Her growl rippled against Frodo's arm. "Who is that man in the corner?"

Butterbur's expression darkened, and he inhaled slowly. "He's one of them Rangers. I don't know his proper name, but folks around here call him Strider." He turned away cryptically.

"Strider," Frodo whispered. Sev's eyes flickered up as Frodo backed off of her, and she saw the pipe's embers illuminate Strider's cloaked eyes.

Except for Sev's hand at his shoulder, Frodo couldn't feel anything anymore. The world melted away, and his eyes slipped closed. The Ring seemed to crawl out of his pocket and into his fingers. He turned the smooth, gold metal around in his fingers, a cold, harsh voice entered his mind.

 _Baggins. Baggins. Baggins . . ._

Sev saw the Ring and reached forward frantically to alert him, but then something halted them both.

"Baggins!"

Frodo's eyes shot open. He turned around, and Sev glared as her gaze turned back to Pippin. The latter sat at the bar, gesturing to Frodo with his mug. "Sure, I know a Baggins! Frodo Baggins! He's over there."

Frodo glanced down in disbelief, and Sev's hackles raised. She turned to stop Pippin as he explained his relation to Frodo, but Frodo was faster, more desperate. He leaped up from the bench and dodged through the crowds to get to Pippin and grabbed his arm. Pippin shoved back, and Frodo collapsed to the hard floor. The Ring flew out of his fingers; Sev stared in horror as it flipped through the air. Frodo reached up to grab it . . . and it slipped around his finger.

Sev stiffened when he vanished, and she leaped up to find him.

Everything surrounding Frodo grew faded and blurry. The shapes of men and the entire inn blackened and grew almost liquid in form. Then a loud crackling coming from his side caused him to look up . . . and a fiery light filled his vision. A huge, draconic eye, composed almost entirely of fire, blazed through the inn. Its voice crackled and rumbled through the air.

"I see you," it growled.

Frodo scrambled away from the coming fire, then tore the Ring from his finger. The world faded back to a dim, relatively quieter reality.

Strider approached the floor where Frodo had disappeared, but Sev got there first, drawing her dagger. Strider turned to shove her aside as both spotted Frodo the moment the Ring came off.

Sev lunged against Strider's hand. "Don't hurt him." She intended for it to sound threatening, but it honestly came out far more of a plea. Frodo heard her and perked into a sitting position, scanning the room for her.

"If anything, he will hurt himself," Strider hissed, stepping forward. Frodo stood to back away, but his head solidly smacked against the table he'd hidden under. As he rubbed his head, Strider grabbed his upper arm in a vice grip and yanked him to his feet. Sev leaped for him, but Strider locked a hand around her shirt collar. She reasoned not to fight unless she knew he meant to harm Frodo.

"I wouldn't draw more attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill," Strider snapped, turning with both halflings. He shoved them both up the stairs; Sev followed Frodo until the ranger backed them in to the room he'd evidently taken for himself. He ushered them aside, and Sev protectively stepped in front of Frodo.

"I can avoid being seen when I wish," Strider said, turning away. He licked his fingers and began pinching out candles. Then, as he spoke he turned, letting his hood fall from his face. "But disappearing entirely! That is a rare gift."

Frodo swallowed, and Sev's fingers tensed around her dagger.

"That is no trinket you carry," Strider warned.

"I carry nothing," Frodo insisted. Sev flinched at the lie—as she always did—but remained silent.

"Oh, believe me, I know," Strider said.

Frodo's eyebrow cocked. "Who are you?"

Strider didn't respond, glancing at Frodo. "Are you frightened?"

Fearing the conversation's direction, Sev grabbed Frodo's hand while they spoke. She felt his pulse race under her fingers as he replied: "Yes."

"Not nearly frightened enough," Strider persisted. "I know what hunts you."

Sev leaned forward to ask more, for Willation had mentioned nothing about black riders. Immediately, however, the door flew open behind Frodo, and Sev slipped away from his side, drawing her blade while Strider did the same.

The three other hobbits stood outside, Merry with a chair, Pippin with a torch, and Sam with nothing but his fists.

"Don't touch them, or I'll have you, longshanks!" Sam exclaimed.

Sev relaxed, backing away, and Strider sheathed his weapon. "You have a stout heart, master hobbit, but that will not save you." He gestured to the wall, where there were four beds lined up. Although Sam graciously offered to give up his own rest, Sev declined and backed away from the hobbits while they tried to sleep.


	12. Into the Wild

Fear numbed Frodo as he laid down. The Ring would not be safe in Bree, not until Gandalf came. But they didn't have much time. No doubt the black riders were close behind. Frodo didn't know where to go, how to get where the Ring could be protected. He could feel its power growing, the tension rising.

Sev watched from a distance as terror gripped him. He seemed to strain breathing. She stepped out of her shadows, from the corner behind where Strider sat at the window to watch the outside world. She sat down on the bed beside Frodo, and he could feel the mattress sink just a little at the added pressure. She laid a gentle hand to his shoulder, beneath his cloak, and probed his back with her warm fingers.

Soon he rolled over. The moonlight from the nearby window shed a beam across her eyes, illuminating the white against her initial darkness. He couldn't but stare for a moment: they were intense, but protective, hopeful, soft in a way. Familiar. Eyes of a friend he recognized. His best friend that didn't want anything bad to happen to him.

"I'm afraid, Sev," he said finally.

It took her aback to see Frodo so worried, so dark. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned up, and she pulled him into a tighter embrace; her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, holding him close, while he embraced her back. The warmth dizzied Frodo, and he nearly slacked against her.

One of her hands rubbed his shoulders. "You'll be okay." Then her voice dropped to a whisper, and she lifted her lips to his ear as she spoke. The movement caused Frodo to tense. "I so swear, you will make it home alive and safe. If anything harms you, I will break it." She meant it. She couldn't imagine letting anything alone if it tried to hurt him. Frodo wanted to believe her, held by her arms and words. She wanted to protect him.

But she couldn't do everything, as hard as she tried. Having the one she loved in her arms for a moment gave her motivation as she felt his heart pulsing throughout his core, near her where nothing could touch him. Her eyes pricked when she spoke; she never imagined he would let her promise anything.

Finally Frodo settled back. "Thank you," he said. She laid him down and told him to rest, letting her finger trace his forehead before she backed away. He tried to sleep, he really did. Worry filled his mind, numbing his senses and blocking sleep.

Even as Sev turned to the window to watch outside, Strider beckoned her to stand before him. "You care for him?"

Sev nodded assertively. "More than he will ever know." Strider cocked his head, so she continued. "I could die for him, Strider, and would feel the better for it. But he doesn't know, will never know." Not at this rate of his attentions, anyway.

Strider bowed his head. "I am sorry. But I'm glad he has an able guardian." He laid a hand on Sev's shoulder. "Keep him safe."

The ranger didn't need to say it, and both of them knew it. But something about the man's words stirred memories of Gandalf and Bilbo saying the same thing deep within Sev, and she almost thought she could hear Willation saying the same. _Keep him safe. Keep him safe._

"Yes, sir," Sev said.

Strider leaned back in his chair. Both he and Sev turned to the window, glancing across the way to where the hobbits' original room lay.

"Do you have someone as well, Strider?" Sev asked, not turning her gaze.

Strider grew remorseful. When Sev finally looked up, she almost thought he no longer did, if he ever had. Then he said, "She is giving up her immortal life for me." He shook his head slowly. "War is upon us. She would be safer with her people."

Sev's eyebrows lifted. "An Elf?" she whispered.

The ranger nodded to Frodo. "You cannot blame me," he said with a slight grin. "Your preference seems to lie in the Elvish as well."

Sev turned to look at Frodo. She could tell he didn't hear them; his eyes were too wide and frightened. He had shown no recognition at any movement or sound in the room. Her gaze locked on his face, and she could feel her core begin to ache at the sight of him. Sheathed in moonlight, his gentle, pale face seemed to glow. He had slender features, she knew, but every time she realized just what he looked like, it stopped her heart. She knew this Frodo . . . better than she knew anyone else. Every time it struck her, her conviction blazed like a fire throughout her. Here her fingers gripped her dagger hilt so hard she could feel the imprint begin to carve into her skin.

They couldn't have him.

But she couldn't help him now either. Fear was the one poison she could not drain, and the only one paining him now. She could at least try.

Sev jolted when shrieks sounded behind her, and she spun to face the window. The hobbits' room flickered with dark light, and soon four or five black riders emerged. The other hobbits shot up to sitting positions, save Frodo, who still seemed lost in the depths of fear. He heard the term Nazgul as Strider explained . . . and Sev turned away from the explanation as well.

Nazgul, Ringwraiths, triggered an actual memory in Sev's mind. Willation hadn't mentioned what they were, just that dark servants of Lord Sauron—pursuing the Ring—might be a hindrance if she ever ran into the Ring. She hadn't expected to, and Willation had said he hoped she didn't. He warned her of details regardless, but she wondered how she hadn't thought of these as Nazgul.

Now she just missed Willation and everything she could have had back home . . . then realized Frodo and his reciprocation of friendship meant more to her than anything, much less Atansdorre and her "parents."

She snapped out of her reminiscing when Strider gravely announced they should get onto the road. The hobbits quickly packed up, and Strider ushered them down the stairs of the Prancing Pony. He turned back to Sev, eyed Frodo.

"Tarry a little," he said. "We shall be finding a horse to accompany us. I will return when we are ready to depart." Then he left.

Sev sat on the bed and watched. All Frodo could feel was the Ring burning against his chest as he feared becoming like the Ringwraiths, a servant to Sauron and his darkness for their greed and malice.

The anti-creature beside him bitterly asserted that the Nazgul should have been called Seville . . . blood of malice. She could share a name with the very creatures trying to destroy everything she cared about. At the thought of losing him, Sev's hand strayed to his arm, and she gently held his shoulder.

At the slight pressure coupled with soft warmth, Frodo snapped out of his fear, turning over. "Sev."

She nodded carefully.

"They are gone?"

She nodded again, stood hesitantly, and slung his pack over her shoulder. She gestured for him to come, and he followed her. He'd been too tired to notice what she picked up, or that he had none of his possessions with him but the Ring. He realized somewhere along the way, however, and while Sev made arrangements with Strider he slipped it off of her shoulders.

The group acquired a pony, Bill, set aside for Sam to lead. Strider quickly led them from the dark city of Bree out into the forest nearby, lidded with gray clouds.

"Where are you taking us?" Frodo asked finally.

"Into the wild," was Strider's only reply.

Sev glanced up at Frodo. She felt Strider trustworthy, but then knew he loved someone and didn't expect him to be an enemy after all he'd done on their behalf. Frodo's qualms were settled regardless, and he continued with conviction as he realized Strider would likely be helpful, in fact necessary.

But the rest of the group did not seem resolved.

Merry stepped close to Frodo, between him and Sev, and the latter slipped back. "How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf's? He could be working against us."

"I think a servant of the enemy would appear fairer . . . and feel fouler," Frodo replied. Then he turned his sights ahead and walked faster. "And we have no choice but to trust him."

Sam spoke up from behind. "Well, where's he leading us?"

Sev knew and opened her mouth to speak, but Strider got to it first. "To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. To the House of Elrond."

Still slipping behind, Sev matched up with Sam. "Do you hear that, Sev?" Sam asked excitedly. "We're going to see the Elves!"

Sev nodded, also excited, but more worried about Frodo as he walked ahead of her. He glanced back, watching her smile at Sam.

Sev's gaze turned to the Ring, and she could feel the pains attacking . . . her hackles raised at the dark power before her. Then the pains attacked, stabbed into her. She stepped back, staggering, and collapsed to one knee.

"Are you all right, Ms. Sev?"

She looked up at Sam, straining to see him through her blurring eyes. She nodded, trying to breathe. "Go ahead." She almost jumped at how typical her voice sounded, how the pain she felt refused to fall into her voice. She just sounded a little tired. "I have a pebble stuck between my toes; it just hurts a little bit."

Sam nodded hesitantly and continued forward with Bill. As Sev convulsed, Frodo turned back to find her. He glanced at Sam as the majority of the group continued forward.

"Sam?"

Sam turned, slowing the horse. "She says she has a pebble between her toes, Mr. Frodo." He shrugged. "Even if she needs help, I don't know that she wants it." Sam clicked, and Bill continued walking. Frodo stood still, watching as Sev's lungs began to heave uncontrollably. He stepped up to her cautiously, not sure how to react. Even after 13 years he'd never really seen her this way.

"Sev?" She didn't respond. He stepped up even closer and actually knelt down right next to her. He fingered her hair, not sure if being more open would help or hurt the situation . . . or what the situation was. He glanced at her hand tightening around her stick: her veins surged, as though her heart were malfunctioning. Taken aback he stood, unsure what else he could do but wait for her to awaken.

When Sev's eyes opened and the convulsions faded slowly and painstakingly away, she finally stood. It surprised her to see Frodo standing in front of her.

"Sev, are you all right?" he asked, wondering if she would actually tell him.

Sev shrugged, but she shivered as she did so. He settled by her side, and her eyes followed him, uncertain at his motives as well as fearing his nearness. She blinked, and Frodo brought her to her feet, offering his arm for her. She looked a little tired.

Sev accepted, but tried to take it as an opportunity to help him instead. It didn't entirely work, although as she stumbled along—the pains had decided to stick around for a while—by Frodo's side there were moments she felt like she could hold him up. It only confused him, but he didn't ask.

When they caught up to the rest of the group, Sam had set up his pans over a small fire and began cooking food. Merry, Pippin, and Strider were gathered around the fire, and Sev split off from Frodo at a welcoming gesture from Pippin. She didn't want to leave him, but felt chagrined enough at her need for support the whole way without being able to give anything back.

Frodo watched a little helplessly, sitting down to eat himself. He finished reading the novel he'd brought with him while Sev flirted with Pippin. Something flickered within him that he didn't understand . . . he'd felt it before, when she laughed with Rosie at the Green Dragon.

Jealousy. Not enough to make him despise Pippin, but he'd never felt it before. He jolted a little bit, turning back to his book with an internal refusal to take this new aspect of his character. Sev didn't notice anything; she simply felt as though she was being gracious to Pippin's attentions, as both knew they were feigned. She wouldn't have taken it as flirting unless she watched it herself.

Strider ordered them to pack everything away again, and soon they set out onto the road. Sev remained at the back, watching for signs of any Nazgul. After only an hour of walking over somewhat snowy terrain, Merry announced he felt second breakfast coming on. Sam brought Bill to a halt, and the four hobbits began unpacking the horse.

Sev shook her head and trotted off after Strider. They didn't have time, but she didn't feel she had the authority or desire to tell them to keep moving. Strider turned to her; she usually remained at the back of the group, so having her in front surprised him.

"Where is Frodo?" Sev felt a jolt at Strider's concern for Frodo, and she glanced behind her at Bill.

"Gentlemen!" Strider called out. They all turned to him. "We do not stop until nightfall."

Pippin stared up at him, although all four hobbits froze. "But what about breakfast?" Pippin asked.

Strider blinked. "We've already had it." Sev's eyes slipped closed. _Finally someone understands_ , she thought.

"We've had one, yes," Pippin said, smug tone growing in his voice, "but what about _second_ breakfast?" He assumed an according expression. Sev turned, a little hopeful, to Strider. The latter just shook his head and kept walking. Sev felt a minor spike of triumph, but somehow managed to contain her cackle.

Frodo ambivalently began packing again; he wasn't hungry anyway, probably wouldn't be until nightfall. Walking would leave no time or energy for hunger . . . and the Ring didn't leave any desire for it either.

Sev listened as she kept walking. "I don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip," Merry said, resigned to his fate.

Pippin wouldn't back down. "But what about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea?" His voice escalated desperately. "Dinner? Supper! He must know about them, doesn't he?"

Merry turned to him. "I wouldn't count on it."

Strider shook his head beside Sev, palmed an apple, and threw it over his shoulder. He then threw a second, and Sev heard it smack something. "Pippin!" Merry called out. Strider handed her an apple as well, and she accepted it, although she only had intention to give it to Frodo.

They walked through various terrain, woods and fields of mossy rock. Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, Frodo approached Sev. He'd felt the weight of the Ring all morning, but by her side it fizzled away from him, trying to reach her.

"I finished the book, Sev."

One of Sev's eyebrows raised as she turned to him, extending the apple. "Without me?"

Frodo grinned slightly and accepted her offer. Sev bit her lower lip as she contemplated her lips meeting that smile, if they ever would (which at this point she doubted). She thought about it a little too hard, and felt herself physically leaning a little towards him.

"I got over the contemplative spot," he continued.

"When did you have time to finish it?" Although she didn't feel like conversing, Sev didn't want him to go. She liked seeing him capable, not tainted by the Ring just yet. He had accepted food, and eaten earlier that morning. That, and she just enjoyed being around him in general.

Frodo glanced back at Pippin, remembering the way he'd spoken to Sev earlier, embraced her, kissed her hand. Sev hadn't really seemed to notice . . . in fact wouldn't have taken that as flirting had she been asked. "During breakfast. You were flirting with Pippin." He tried to make it sound lighthearted, but something pressed on him, something he didn't want to admit.

She frowned to herself. Flirting? She did not flirt. "Devil," she muttered. That didn't encourage Frodo until she shot him a jocose stare and didn't let go. He nudged her, his face burning, and caught up to Bill. Sev faltered as he left; the pains swelled as he departed, and she fell back.

Soon they entered a marsh. Frodo knew the water would likely be cold, and so backed up to be near Sev. She didn't anticipate either of them could get through without a struggle, and she subsequently grabbed his arm. They spread out from each other to maintain balance, which permitted Frodo to reach with the hand of the arm she had to grab her own arm. As they trudged through the marsh, most of the hobbits were wet from head to toe, but Frodo managed to keep his arm dry with Sev's warmth channeling through it. She called out to the other hobbits that she had a spare arm, but none of them took it. Frodo wondered if they could actually feel her warmth, if they'd have accepted had they felt it.

Sev began to weaken as they reached the border of the marsh. Her brain picked up very slowly on thousands of bites from marsh bugs all over the four hobbits, and something deep inside begged her to drain them. Holding on to Frodo forced her to take them when they came, but her intent level of refusal caused dizziness in her head. She stumbled the last few feet to somewhat dry ground, the pain spreading like a fire. Frodo lowered her to the ground, concerned, and sat down next to her, hesitantly laying a hand between her shoulders. She said nothing about it, just looked dizzy and exhausted. The other hobbits passed them by, and her desire to drain them slowly ebbed. When she internalized the feeling of Frodo's hand to her shoulders, she began to stiffen. She didn't want to get up; she wanted to savor his touch as his fingers very cautiously pressed down, moving across her shoulders very slowly.

After a few more moments, Sev felt far too perky (and a little too much of a blush coming to her face) to stay there any longer. She stood abruptly, hoping Frodo hadn't noticed her involved in what had happened just then. She held out her hand.

"I'll take your cloak. It'll dry faster hanging up." Frodo slipped the cloak over his head, and Sev slipped it over a nearby tree branch. Frodo wondered if having it on and her by his side would have been faster, but she didn't know the warmth existed; it would have done little from her perspective.

Regardless of what happened to his cloak, he wanted to be with her at least until he dried off. Then she could leave him if she really wished to. He gestured for her to sit by him, but she took no notice. She glanced at his feet, damp and almost a little muddy.

Sev gestured to his feet. "May I?"

He shrugged, not entirely sure what she wanted. She sat down and removed a small cloth from her pocket. Strider had begun to boil a bit of water, and she dipped the cloth in that after ensuring he wouldn't mind. She wrung it out, then gently rubbed the muck off of Frodo's feet. His eyes slipped closed and he laid back until she was finished; the day in the marsh apparently had left his feet desiring something. He sat up to thank her, but she laid the cloth aside, oblivious, and began pressing the balls of his feet with her thumbs. The warmth shot up through his legs and spread through his nervous system. His brain tingled, and he laid back, content to stay there.

When Sev saw his reaction, she almost wondered why he would exaggerate something like that. Sure, it might feel good (she didn't try to think about asking him to do hers), but it couldn't feel _that_ good. She decided to turn her shock into laughter, and he followed, although he was more wistful and a little confused at her reaction. She backed away, and the warmth left with her. He thought about asking her to come back, but said nothing. If she wanted him to he would rub her feet, if it would make her stay.

Before Frodo could ask, Strider reentered camp with a deer slung over his shoulder. The hobbits looked up a little hopefully, and Sev reluctantly joined them. She helped Strider clean it, and then they ate. Frodo sat close to Sev, his arm up against hers. He still hadn't dried off yet.

No one spoke during dinner. The day had been too taxing, the task upon Frodo too great for anyone capable of speaking to handle. To follow the sinking mood Sev began humming mournful songs under her breath, and stepped away from the group as they rolled to sleep. Frodo followed, as the warmth of the fire was accompanied by smoke and ashes. She didn't really mind, in fact preferred having him nearby; when she saw him standing behind her, she patted the ground beside her, and he sat down next to her.

When Sev finally admonished him to sleep, the hobbits curled up uncomfortably in their cloaks. Sev positioned them, after Frodo fell silent, in a circle around him to keep him safe. He wondered if all this was truly necessary; if she stayed close by, nothing would happen to him.

As the other three hobbits drifted off to sleep, Strider eyed Sev. She tossed restlessly, watching Frodo sharply. "Would you like me to sing?' Strider asked quietly.

Sev nodded, hoping it would calm her nerves.

She began to drift off to the sound of his voice, but Frodo—who had been falling a little bit—abruptly awakened, listening. Sev could only tell it was a romance for the way Strider's voice accented his words with tender sincerity; Frodo translated the lyrics to himself. When he sat up, Sev's eyes slipped closed.

"Who is she?" Frodo's low voice pierced the air.

Strider turned to him; neither he nor Sev had expected him to care. Hearing those words, that concern, come out of Frodo, Sev almost hoped it could work for her. But she couldn't by any means count on it.

"This woman you sing of," Frodo clarified when Strider didn't respond.

Strider glanced at the ground, turned away from Frodo. "Tis the Lay of Luthien, an elf maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal."

"What happened to her?"

Strider stumbled over his words, and Sev felt a pang of intense sympathy. "She died."

Sev froze, imagining Frodo dead across her lap. She inhaled sharply, began to shudder at the thought. The image refused to leave her. Her eyes strained wide open, as though they could not see enough if they weren't on Frodo at all times.

Frodo glanced at Sev. She looked tense; he wondered what more she would give up for him.

Strider broke the silence, following Frodo's gaze. "Get some sleep, Frodo."

Frodo settled back down, and Sev waited a few minutes before turning to the ranger. "I'm sorry, Strider," she said. He cocked his head, confused. "I'm sure it worries you, to love an Elf." She bit her lip, hoping she hadn't gone too far.

Strider nodded solemnly, and his gaze flickered to Frodo. "You should rest too," he said.

Sev laid down and turned, intently watching Frodo. She allowed her eyes to close periodically, but she didn't want to sleep. Her fear began to take over as Frodo's breathing leveled. He'd heard nothing of their conversation as sleep began working through his mind, and he continued not to notice her now. He cringed, subsequent of fears emptying themselves in preparation for a night's rest as sleep stretched its liquid, uncertain fingers for him.

Sev turned to Strider. "May I go to him?"

Strider nodded.

The liquidity of Frodo's rest slowed to a halt as Sev crept over the damp earth and knelt by his side. Her warmth spread across his back and shoulder, extended to his face as she drew closer. She studied him, memorizing his gentle features before the Ring could harm them. She wanted to carry this burden herself, protect the priceless light and let him stay the way he'd always been. She lowered herself, carefully brushed her lips against his cold, fragile cheek. Frodo stiffened a little, but the soft kiss warmed every fiber of his being, and so he relaxed. His eyes slacked back inside his head until she pulled away. She lowered her lips to his ear.

"I'll never let them hurt you."


	13. Shattered Light

**Sorry about the wait; I should have uploaded Saturday, but I was flying home from Alaska. XD Also, I realize that this version is more . . . thorough, I guess, than the others. If you like more plot and less depth, you might like one of the other perspectives better. If not, I hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated and responded to. :)**

When they awoke Frodo remembered hearing her voice, then falling asleep immediately. She didn't bring it up, and she didn't seem different; he almost wondered if he'd dreamed up the whole thing. Then he traced his cheek with his fingertip. He could still feel her lips there, warm and soft. It surprised him how a feature so dark could be so gentle and pleasant.

To Sev's perplexed disappointment, they only walked half the day before coming to a small hill topped with a crown of castle ruins. It was an old watchtower, apparently. Strider pointed to the stone remains and turned back to face the hobbits behind him.

"We'll rest here for the night," he said quietly.

All were silent as they approached the hill. Sam tied Bill in a small closure out of the way at the base of the small mountain before they ascended. Once they reached a ledge tucked into the rock, Strider sat them down.

"I'm going to go scout around."

Sev frowned and hissed, "Strider, we're not safe alone."

Strider pulled her aside, and she sat down. "I picked up four swords for the other hobbits; you should be fine. I need to ensure the Nazgul won't sneak up on us, and we need food." He gave her an intense stare, so she nodded reluctantly.

Strider stepped away and distributed shortswords to the four hobbits. "These are for you," he said grimly. Frodo unsheathed his a portion of the way; the blade was wider than his arm from one side to another, and tapered from an inch thick to a sharp edge. Strider turned to Sev.

"I don't have one for a female, unfortunately—,"

Sev threw it aside. "I have my own, Strider. And I appreciate the gesture, but I'm sure . . ." She trailed off, not feeling snarky enough to finish. _I'm sure I could fight better without a sword than any of them could with one._

Her sarcastic expression brought a small grin out of Strider. He clapped her shoulder. "Keep them safe, will you?"

Sev nodded, and her peripheral shifted to Frodo as he set his sword aside. He watched her looking at him, but neither acknowledged the other's awareness. Strider turned and departed the mountain, fading into the shadows of a cloudy midday.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin stepped away to converse while Frodo sat with his back to the mountain, fingering his sword. He felt the weight of the Ring, of the Nazgul, of everything ahead of him. Taking the Ring to Bree had accomplished nothing, and he didn't know how to react to this newfound responsibility he had for an undesignated amount of time or distance.

Sev watched carefully, then sat down close to him. "Frodo?"

He glanced up, uncertain why she had come. "You want to finish the book?"

She shook her head. "Not now, my friend." She sighed and settled against the stone nearby, her thoughts filled with the impending dangers and how badly she wanted to be rid of them.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "Must be a predicament indeed." His heart thudded as he thought about his own novel predicament, how she sat so close he could probably touch her if he just reached out.

Sev didn't reply, feeling a little disturbed. She didn't watch him; she didn't have the heart to be so solemn. Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance. Frodo followed her gaze, approximately directed towards the other hobbits.

"Who are you watching?" he asked. Her attention snapped back to him, and he was hesitant to continue. "Pippin?"

She gawked at him, surprised. "As if I would!" He laughed, relieved more than she could have known that she faced no attraction to Pippin. _Good enough_ , Sev considered, happy to hear him laugh again. She leaned forward and ruffled his hair; his entire head tingled with warmth. "You didn't get enough sleep last night, that's what it is. Go to bed, Frodo." Then Sev leaned towards him jocosely, as though about to issue a threat.

Although Frodo recognized that she was simply joking, he leaned forward as well. She took it as a responsively humorous gesture . . . but her lips were only an inch away. His eyes flickered, and he hoped perhaps she would psychologically turn around, let him kiss her and respond in a way that told him how much she cared, if she did.

Sev saw no such thing, and had to swallow a chuckle before becoming serious again. Frodo felt his hope slip away. She pulled back. "Do not fear them, Frodo." He laid down, feeling defeated. "I will watch you. Sleep peacefully, please." Her immediate drop from jocosity to ultimate concern shocked him, but he responded anyway.

He laid himself down, a smile rising to his face. "Thank you, Sev."

Sev lay down about a foot away from him, waiting.

Somehow she managed to drift off; Frodo fell asleep somewhat uneasily as well, rolled up in his cloak. He awoke to the smell of smoke and sizzling meat some time later, after the sun had set over the distant mountains. His eyes widened as consciousness—and the realization that there was a fire nearby—sank in. He flipped over to see Merry, Sam, and Pippin all circling a fire near him.

"What are you doing?!" he cried, terror gripping him.

Merry blinked. "Tomatoes, sausage, and some nice, crispy bacon," he said proudly. _Fools_ , Frodo thought urgently, springing from the ground. They were going to do nothing.

"We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, sounding hopeful.

Frodo shook his head, stamping out the fire frantically. "Put it out, you fools, put it out!"

Sev shot up, and dread overcame her as she smelled the remains of the fire. _Darn you, Sev; you never sleep,_ she grumbled to herself. Her inner voice grew more intense and a little abusive when she saw Frodo staring back at her, fear lining every inch of him. He realized she had not been involved in the fire, for how her hair exploded in messy tangles around her face. She'd been asleep, but now she scrambled to her feet and unsheathed her sword.

A shrill shriek, the shriek of the Nazgul, froze her heart. Frodo raced to the edge of the precipice, and he could see a fleet of shadows stealing through mist at the base of the mountain. Sev hissed to herself and bared her blade. Frodo leaped away from the ledge, shouting to the other hobbits. "Go!" They all unsheathed their swords, racing up the stairs. Sev paused, lingering at the back. She thought it would be wiser to get Frodo off the mountain and send him away . . . but she didn't bring it up as she ran after Frodo.

The four hobbits and the anti-creature came to a ring-shaped courtyard of ruins, with statues and crumbling columns surrounding them on all sides. The wind whipped around them, creating a hiss on the air that caused them to turn every which way to watch for Ringwraiths. Sev felt a slight surge of hope as the other hobbits crowded around Frodo, protectively locking him in.

As he turned to keep an eye out, Frodo felt a sudden chill sweep over him . . . specifically over his breast pocket, where the Ring lay vibrant and alive. Frodo slowly let his eyes drift around to where the Ringwraiths began stepping over the rims and stairs of the ruins. Sev shifted her gaze as well, feeling the pull of the darkness. She struggled with herself, wrestling to stay back, to keep from joining them. The blackness was her home, where she had come from, but now that she knew light she wanted nothing to do with it.

Sev slowly ushered Frodo to the back of the group as the Nazgul stepped forward, crooked blades raised. Five of them surrounded the hobbits. Sev wondered how many the hobbits could take, perhaps one per two of them.

But before she could say anything, Sam leaped forward. "Get back, you!" he shouted, but the Ringwraith quickly threw him aside. Pippin and Merry huddled in front of Frodo, and they were also easily swept aside. Sev began to growl, and Frodo's sword clattered against the ground, slipping out of his shaking fingers as he scrambled away from the Ringwraiths. He could feel the Ring in his pocket and the terror seizing his heart. He and Sev backed into a pile of stone.

The head of the Nazgul stepped forward, challenging Frodo with his sword.

"Leave him alone!" Sev snapped. She lunged for the Nazgul. He swiped at her, but she deflected it; the strike sent shocks of pain up her arm. He stepped back, surprised, and she took that as an opportunity to slice his arm. The Nazgul shrieked angrily, throwing her back. She hit the ground, then stood to face him again. Another Nazgul grabbed her hand as she stood, twisted the blade from her grasp, and yanked her to him, his hand embedded in her hair. He held a silver knife to her neck. Sev could feel her fierce protection for Frodo and her need to join the Nazgul fighting each other. She strained not to fall to the darkness surrounding her.

As the Nazgul approached Frodo, he felt the Ring pulling at him. He slipped it out of his pocket, eyeing it carefully.

Sev's gaze shot between Frodo and the Nazgul, both of them incessantly eyeing the Ring. Sev jolted in her captor's grasp as the Nazgul reached down to take the Ring from Frodo.

Frodo's senses began to fade; he could only hear Sev in the back of his mind.

"Frodo!" she cried out. "Frodo! The Ring, Frodo!"

The Ring slipped on to his finger. He vanished from Sev's view as she strained to help, as she watched, now incapable of doing anything. Although Sev could now see less, Frodo could see everything in dark shapes—and the Nazgul, figures of ghostly white. Their skin stretched over unreal faces; their eyes, empty, flickered over him. His gaze caught Sev: she looked perfectly normal, unlike everything else, save her eyes. Black eyes, framed in white veins, watched him in terror. Her pupils were white as well, her irises bright orange.

Although still changed, she was the only normal thing in his world of vision.

The head Nazgul reached for the Ring, and it pulled Frodo's finger up to reach its master again. Frodo resisted, but the blackness began to overtake him, almost causing him to will the Ring back to Sauron. He set his jaw and pulled it away; the Ring's weight counteracted his efforts, but his willpower apparently could do enough. The Nazgul hissed, and the blade in is hand stabbed into his shoulder. He cried out as pressure and cold flared through his shoulder, spreading through his body in chills; his skin burned and shuddered.

Sev saw the blade vanish into his body, and horror swept over her. Frodo's scream stopped her heart, and she determined furiously never to let it reach her ears again. "Noo!" She slammed a bite over the Nazgul's fleshless fingers, and with a screech it released her. She grabbed its blade and slashed back at it until it backed away. Then she discarded the sword, leaping desperately towards Frodo as she left it. He tore the Ring from his finger, crying out. Sev grabbed the hilt of the Morgul blade, yanked it from his shoulder, and threw it.

While numb cold filled him, Frodo strained against the blackness claiming every inch of his body and soul until Sev grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him back, away from the Nazgul. Warmth counteracted the numbness, letting him rest while Sev fought his inner battle for him. He felt no more, only haze surrounding him.

"Sev . . ." His groan didn't come from his conscious mind, but it triggered Sev into deeper protection. She pulled him into her arms, protecting him from the onslaught of wraiths coming at them.

Strider leaped into the ruins, wielding a huge, silver sword. He battled the Ringwraiths and managed to set some of them on fire. A few leaped away, and Sev knew they thought they'd won, having stabbed Frodo. No doubt they would return for the Ring once he died. She choked back a dark hiss at the thought; she wouldn't let him die.

"Can you help him?" Sev insisted once Strider reached the huddled hobbits. Frodo convulsed, his eyes wide—they flickered rapidly.

Strider lifted the discarded knife from the ground. "He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade." The metal point dissipated into the air, and he threw the empty hilt aside. Sev thrust Frodo into his arms. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine."

Sev couldn't run fast enough, but the rest of the group couldn't keep up either. She had to keep far ahead of them; Frodo's halted cries of pain stung her as though she were being stabbed by little knives on all sides. She clamped her hands over her ears, convulsing as she collapsed to her knees in the midst of three monstrous stone trolls in a small clearing; she couldn't take his pain. She had to do something.

Strider laid Frodo next to her, and she leaped to him. At Strider's gesture she ripped aside Frodo's shirt. The Morgul stab beckoned to her, and an unquenchable thirst to drain it knocked into the side of her head. The moment her finger initially touched the blackened skin, however, she snapped away. It felt too good as the dark poison trickled up through her arm, giving her the strength capacity a hundred times that of normal blood. She would pursue healing the Morgul wound as long as it remained.

Frodo could partially hear when Sam knelt over him. "Look, Mr. Frodo; it's Mr. Bilbo's trolls!"

Sev buried her forehead in her hands as Frodo faded out of consciousness again. Her fingers—now stained with the blackness of the poison within Frodo—traced his forehead. She glanced up at Strider.

"He's gone cold," she said gravely. They didn't have much time.

Pippin held back tears. "Is he going to die?"

Strider knelt down beside Frodo, opposite Sev. She eyed Strider carefully, not releasing Frodo. "He's passing into the Shadow world. Soon he will become a wraith like them." At this Frodo's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his breath began to heave harder. Strider turned to Sam, and they both raced off into the forest to find kingsfoil to slow the poison. Sev didn't follow them for fear Frodo would slip away in her absence.

His eyes flickered over her, and she swallowed a sob back. She refused to lose him. And if she did lose him—she didn't want to dwell on that. She refused to let him go.

A white light filled the vision of both Sev and Frodo. The latter turned over slightly, and his eyes widened. A beautiful Elf woman in a flowing, white gown gracefully descended from her horse, stepping towards them.

"Frodo," she said. Sev was entranced; the grace and light before her seemed such an alien thing. The woman continued in Elvish.

"I am Arwen; I am here to help you." At Frodo's persistent lack of consciousness she spoke more intently. "Hear my voice. Come back to the light!"

The battle waged harder within Frodo, and he convulsed as darkness overtook his conscious mind. The vision faded from before Sev, and Arwen knelt down next to Frodo, no longer illuminated by bright light. Sev heard the other hobbits whispering excitedly about the new Elf, but Sev couldn't entirely have cared less. Perhaps this woman could save him, and Sev needed nothing more.

"Frodo!" Arwen whispered urgently. Strider bit into the kingsfoil and squeezed some of the juice of it into Frodo's shoulder. The hobbit's eyes bulged as the weed counteracted the poison within him. Sev bit her lip. Seeing him go through so much pain . . . she didn't know how much longer she could take it. But if she could help she would.

"He is fading," Arwen said under her breath. "We must get him to my father."

Strider lifted him on to Arwen's stallion and told her he would go to Rivendell with Frodo, then send back horses. Arwen presented that she could ride faster, but then Sev stepped up between them, gripping Frodo's ankle as though her life depended on it. She cleared her throat, and the two glanced down at her.

"Please, let me go with him." Not only did Sev want to let Strider be with Arwen (she assumed they loved each other—or at least hoped that they did if Arwen was indeed the Elf Strider had told her about), but she didn't want to let Frodo out of her sight. "I know the way to Rivendell and I'm even lighter than Frodo. Just have me go with him."

Arwen shook her head after a pause, but Strider grabbed her hand and began speaking quickly in Elvish. Sev could only catch a few words, but got the idea that sending her with Frodo would probably be best.

Sev leaped up onto the horse before they could finish their debate, although she felt the verdict fairly decided. Frodo's back warmed, and the poison strained against Sev's influence; temperature battles crashed through Frodo as she sidled up against his back and looped her arms through his own to keep him up—as well as to reach the reins.

"Ride swiftly," Strider said, clapping Sev's knee. She nodded sternly, and Arwen urged the stallion into the woods. Sev lurched, hanging on hard as the horse leaped away, towards Rivendell.

"What are you doing?!" Sam's voice faded quickly behind Sev. "Those wraiths are still out there!"

She narrowed her eyes as the stallion sped along through the dark woods. _They took him from me; I will take them._

Sev saw no sign of the wraiths all night, and when her heartbeat slowed she could feel Frodo's surging through him, trying to fight its fate. She gripped him tighter. "Stay with me, you devil, stay with me," she muttered. Tears pricked at her eyes, hoping talking to him on Weathertop hadn't been a goodbye.

The horse continued relentlessly through the dawn and most of the afternoon before a shrill shriek stilled Sev's heart, and she glanced behind her through the thinned trees. A wraith on its horse tore out of the quiet woods, pounding across the earth towards Frodo. One after another, more wraiths joined the first until there were nine, racing over an open field less than a length behind Arwen's stallion. _Asfaloth_ , Sev thought, if she recalled Arwen's instructions to the steed correctly.

Sev tried to get the horse to turn through the maze of forest as Ringwraiths closed in, but behind Frodo she couldn't get a decent grip. Asfaloth, thankfully enough, managed to get through quickly, and they stayed a decent distance ahead of the Nazgul. That is, until one of them came right up to the side of Asfaloth and stretched his hand out towards Frodo. Sev strained to move the horse, but could not get control from her vantage point.

Frodo felt the Ring in his pocket pulling him to the Ringwraith; the darkness opened cold arms to receive him, and he wanted—in some sick and twisted way—to submit, anything to escape the stabbing sting centered at his shoulder.

Sev cursed at the wraith, then reached around the front of Frodo's head with one of her hands, guiding him back and away from the Nazgul. She let Asfaloth have his head, and he ripped away through the woods, dodging through trees and narrowly turning corners to avoid the Ringwraiths. Sev nearly fell off with Frodo's momentum when they leaped over a log. How she managed to stay on she didn't know. A branch scratched at her face, leaving a black mark on her cheek.

Asfaloth took one final lunge through the forest, and Sev stiffened with a slight gasp when water splashed against the bottom of one of her feet. She grabbed the reins and yanked hard until Asfaloth halted; Frodo fell back into her, and she strained to sit upright.

The Nazgul let out a series of shrieks. Their horses shied away from the water, prancing mightily. One of the Nazgul turned his horse long enough to face her. She felt ripples of energy from the Ringwraith, drawing her to the darkness that craved her . . . that the blackness of her core wanted more than anything. She snapped away. This one had stabbed Frodo, and he would not take the hobbit from her.

The Nazgul hissed. "Hand him over, she-Halfling."

Sev straightened herself, peering over Frodo's shoulder. She drew her sword, keeping the reins in both hands. "If you want him, come and claim him!" she challenged. Then she yanked the horse's head away from the river, praying for help as she tried to keep a grip on Frodo, the reins, the horse's barrel, and her sword all at once.

She heard plashes behind her as Nazgul entered the river, but then an Elvish chant—and subsequent roaring of water—followed. The Ringwraiths shrieked fearfully. Sev dug her heels into Asfaloth's sides; he leaped away into the forest, and when they crested a small rise Sev turned back to look: the Nazgul were nowhere to be found. The surface of water settled as though nothing had happened.

Sev felt a small stroke of triumph as Asfaloth raced proudly towards Rivendell. A stab of cold lurched throughout Frodo's shoulder, throwing Sev's warmth from him. He groaned, leaning forward, as his soul lingered on the shifty brink of the shadow world. Sev gasped as pains rocked her, begging her to drain his Morgul poison and become a wraith herself. She slacked against Frodo, and the reins fell from her grasp. He slumped out of the saddle. She fell with him, arms locked around his torso, and they rolled for a moment while Asfaloth ground to a halt.

Sev lurched to her knees. "Frodo! Oh, Frodo . . ." She laid him down on his back, her hands at his shoulders. His eyes were distant with black poison spreading through them, his expression pained and growing cold. Tears sprang to her eyes, but did not fall, as she pulled the hobbit into her arms, buried his head under her jaw. His hood collapsed under her hand, and she brushed her fingers through his soft hair. His skin under it was cold.

The warmth enveloped Frodo, and he wanted to dig deeper into it. Something about the cold inside of him, though, refused. Her words sliced through the murk of darkness clouding around him.

"Please, give him the light that I don't have. Save him, please, he is everything to me. He is the hope of this world. Save him—," Sev swallowed, held him closer. "I love him."

Frodo felt a fizzle of shock before he slipped back into semi-consciousness; Sev's warmth fought hard against the coldness building within him, causing him to black out completely. But Sev's words (and Frodo's lack of rejection to them) gave her a little comfort, and she lifted him into her grip. Breathing hard, she counted down, then tried to stand while carrying him. They weighed about the same amount, and she strained to carry him. Her feet tried to slip out from beneath her, and she crashed to the ground.

Her resolve did not break as much as her physical strength. Asfaloth obligingly knelt down beside her, and she slid Frodo into the saddle. The horse stood, and Sev gripped the saddle; her breath heaved in and out.

She closed her eyes, set her mind, and slipped onto the stallion. She didn't have to direct him home, nor did she have to pick up the reins. He galloped home himself. Sev buried her face in Frodo's shoulders, where she rested as the horse did what she no longer could.

Finally Asfaloth slowed. Dizzy, Sev glanced up—Rivendell. Tucked away inside a forested canyon, the dazzling Elvish city filled her with an anxious hope. She leaped off of Asfaloth, but Frodo fell with her. Her ankle cracked against the ground, and she hissed with the pain.

As her blood attempted to repair her ankle, she dragged Frodo by the shoulders towards the beautiful city. She cried out for help, hopeless against the dead weight of a growing wraith in her arms. Pains and screams of darkness sounded in her head as her fingers pressed over where Frodo's wound resided; sharp cold entered her, chilling and exciting the darkness she'd been born into. Focusing on Frodo—and on her admittance of her love for him—she shook it away.

Gandalf raced out from the halls of Rivendell. His face grew grave when he saw Frodo. He reached forward and gathered him away from Sev's arms. Determined to continue helping, Sev grabbed Frodo's ankle, but slacked into unconsciousness. Gandalf dragged her along; she stumbled behind him, half-asleep and only comforted by something of Frodo in her hands.


	14. Kiss Out of a Dream

Soon they whisked Frodo away from her, into a white room with a huge bed in the center. Gandalf locked her out, but she found a little hole in the wall where she could squeeze in and watch. Lord Elrond of Rivendell administered medications and implored Frodo to come away from the darkness. Gandalf threw Frodo's cloak and vest aside, right into Sev's face. She squawked, and he discovered her hole. He frowned down at her, tensing his hand to grab her by the collar and throw her out.

"They're at the trolls!" Sev said suddenly. "They need horses."

Gandalf disappeared immediately. Sev set Frodo's cloak aside, eyeing him on the bed. They'd wrapped him in a huge, white robe that hung about his arms, far too big for him. She cocked her head, hoping he would be all right. Then she settled back into her shadows, waiting anxiously. Whenever he tossed she would lurch from her hiding place and grab his hand away from his shoulder (having heard Elrond say he ought not to touch it).

Soon the wizard came back in. "His companions are safely at Rivendell." He eyed her hand locked around Frodo's, and one of his eyebrows shot straight up. "You haven't disturbed him?"

She shook her head. "No, Gandalf. However, I doubt I could do anything to disturb him; he's sleeping harder than Pippin eats."

Gandalf soundlessly crossed the room and sat down in a chair next to the bed. She eyed him carefully; she didn't trust Frodo with him, not after what he had just barely done. Sev backed away guiltily, considering how poorly she had lived up to her promise not to let him get hurt. She hissed to herself, curling up in the shadows, away from Frodo where she belonged. Away from everyone so she couldn't hurt them. And she couldn't heal this; she'd thought intangible pain was her only downfall. But this pulled at her, until Elrond repaired it to the best of his ability. While they said it would never heal—much to her anguished dismay—it had lost enough of its darkness not to tempt her anymore.

Light and gentleness, sans Sev's familiar warmth, filtered through Frodo's head. Memories trickled back to him: the darkness drained from his shoulder, and yet it was not from warmth, not as comforting as he'd expected.

Before he awoke a dream rippled through his head. _He could see a white shore; the mists cleared ahead of him. A bright, swift sunrise illuminated the horizon over the spread of ocean to his side. Something of cold, fidgety peace overtook him, but quickly replaced itself with warmth._

 _He glanced down at his arm, where the transition from cold to warm was centered. His arm now surrounded Sev; she smiled and laughed when she saw him. While this was Sev, some things had changed—her blood looked a little purple, her eyes and dark lips brighter. A few sweet moments passed, ones Frodo never wanted to let go. A liquid tenderness filled Frodo as he cupped her soft cheek in his hands and his lips brushed against hers._

The sweet gentility of the kiss and Frodo's sincere desire for such a thing to happen sufficiently awakened him.

As consciousness approached so did the realization that something soft truly surrounded Frodo. As his senses recovered, he almost felt he'd been laid in a bed, a very gentle one. Perhaps the mattress he'd told Sam about. But he didn't understand why he should be there. He should be back on the ship, kissing Sev. He wondered if her lips would be so tender against his own, or if she would so readily let him kiss her, and respond in such a way.

Memories of Weathertop flooded him before he could think on it anymore. He suddenly tossed, and Sev tensed in her corner. So he'd been moving for a long while, but in a short increment of time back there he'd stilled and relaxed. She cocked her head, wondering what could possibly cause him to look so peaceful. She wanted to say she'd never seen such satisfaction in anyone's expression before, much less a sleeping Frodo's expression.

Finally Frodo needed to know where he was. His eyes were too heavy to open.

"Where . . . where am I?" Sev lurched at his words, but kept herself back.

"You are in the House of Elrond, Rivendell." Frodo had not been expecting a response from Gandalf. "It is 10:00 in the morning, on October the 24th if you want to know."

Finally Frodo's eyes slipped open, and Sev's breath caught before she let out a huge sigh of relief. Frodo did not see her, though. He first saw the intricate Elvish architecture surrounding him, then spotted Gandalf to his side. He gasped. "Gandalf!"

"Yes, Frodo, I am here," Gandalf chuckled. Sev itched to join them, to feel Frodo and know he safely lay there.

Frodo grimaced, gripping his shoulder as he sat up. "You suffered quite the injury, my dear hobbit. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid."

Frodo surveyed the huge, white bed and vast, white sheets he lay amongst. He turned to Gandalf, more questions perplexing his mind. "What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

Sev hadn't bothered to ask, but she supposed this would be a good a time as any.

Gandalf's expression darkened a little. "I'm sorry, Frodo." He swallowed. "I was delayed." His eyes glazed over, and he stared a little into the distance.

Sev's eyes slipped closed, and she restrained a small outburst. _A delay, Gandalf? Frodo is permanently scarred because of a delay?!_ She certainly didn't blame Gandalf—she wanted to have handled the wraiths herself—but this would all have been over if Gandalf indeed met them at Bree. She settled fitfully when she decided he must have had a good reason.

Frodo cocked his head. "Gandalf?"

Gandalf shook out of it. "I'm sorry."

Sev fidgeted, but as Frodo's gaze swept the room he saw her movement. He peered into the blackness as she shrank back. He could still feel the kiss in his dream, and wanted to see what it would truly feel like, even if he knew he could not—would not—initiate it himself.

"Sev?"

Before his next words could come out, Sev bit her lip and sprang from her corner. Her warmth flared against his Morgul stab, the poison of which backed away at her approach. She wrapped her arms around him, and he embraced her back.

"Frodo, you're—well, curses, still a hobbit!" she cried.

Frodo chuckled to himself, bringing her down into his arms. "Yes, Sev."

Gandalf sounded a little resigned. "No small thanks to her, either. She was the one to bring you here."

Frodo turned to thank her, but he could see a gray blush already creeping to her face. He still intended to do so, but then she backed away, and her fingers entwined with his own. He blinked, then squeezed her hand. He noticed the book he'd brought over on a nearby table and he handed it to her.

She ruffled his hair, feeling a little chagrined. "Devil." She accepted the book and knelt beside the bed. But Frodo did not release her hand, and she didn't pull for it back.

"Frodo!"

Sev snapped to consciousness when she heard Sam and sharply folded into herself. Frodo glanced up, anticipatory, as Sam darted inside, grabbing Frodo's hand.

"Sam!" Frodo exclaimed.

"Bless you, Mr. Frodo, you're awake!" Sam cried joyously.

This time Gandalf chuckled; Sev sighed as she wondered what Gandalf had against her. "And Sam has hardly left your side." _Lies,_ Sev thought. _You've kept him away from here this whole time. He never would have left Frodo if you actually let him in._

"We were worried sick, weren't we, Ms. Sev?" Sam continued, staring down at her. She couldn't help but smile at Sam, the sweetheart.

"Thanks to the skills of Lord Elrond," Gandalf interjected, "you're beginning to mend." The wizard turned his head to Lord Elrond, a tall, graceful Elf with long, dark hair. He smiled kindly at Frodo. His eyes flickered to Sev with a slight darkening, and she cowered away. Any help she could have wanted or hoped for from the Elves would be nothing if they did not trust her, and she didn't know how to get them to see past her heritage.

He turned back to Frodo. "Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled back at the graceful Elf; he felt at home here.

Sev sighed again to herself. So much light and love and happiness around her, even when Frodo suffered a concentrated darkness in his shoulder—the one thing she was good for in a place like this she could not do. She couldn't heal despite everything she'd been designed for, everything she had to suffer through. Her eyes flickered once again to Lord Elrond's; she didn't know whether to plead or threaten, although the former might never work again.

Elrond just inclined his head. He turned with Gandalf, who insisted that Frodo rest. Sam squeezed his master's hand, and Frodo smiled as he departed. Sev stood to leave as well, although her steps came reluctantly. She glanced at Gandalf hopefully, but he shook his head with a stern glance. She stood and traced her fingers on the white bed as she began to leave.

Frodo reached out and grabbed her wrist. She froze at the contact and spun to face him. He didn't want her to leave; his thumb idly rubbed across her skin, and warmth spread through him in ripples.

"You might as well stay in and read, Sev," he said.

Sev lifted an eyebrow, more than happy to stay. "As long as you sleep," she threatened.

Frodo sighed and leaned back into the pile of pillows behind him. Sev snickered; Frodo wondered why he still wanted her there, how he could have grown to love her as he did. Then her words pierced him again.

 _"_ _Save him—I love him."_

Sev's jocose voice snapped him out of it. "Just imagine you're in an Elvish bed, with a superior mattress and a hundred, lovely feather pillows." She smirked a little, and Frodo chuckled. Sev's spine tingled at his laugh, the laugh she didn't know that she would ever hear again.

"Good night, Frodo." She sat next to the bed while he settled to rest. He turned over, refused to face her. He fell asleep quickly.

Another dream slipped into his head . . . _he stood back on the white ship. The sun melted back the remaining mists, and water washed over him like cold falling stars. A warmth tugged on him from the side._

 _Sev's eyes looked, frightened, into his. A pleading light filled her gaze, and sympathy caught his heart. His lips tingled, remembering their kiss, hoping she wished as much as he did for another._

 _"_ _Don't leave me, Frodo."_

 _She took him in her arms, laid his head against her heart. Their pulses beat out of time; exhaustion claimed Frodo, but he knew Sev was terrified._

 _He wanted to tell her he would never leave her; she had nothing to worry about._

But he awakened too quickly.

Sev finished the book in less than an hour—Frodo didn't need too much rest, so he slept minimally before he could feel her energy waking him up. He feigned a toss in his sleep to watch her, but she didn't even look up. She ravenously ate the kissing scenes before her, relishing in the idea of such expression and passion on an understated, tender level. She flicked pages of dialogue to find more kisses and embraces, more factors of her life she would never have even if they were so simple a child could understand their importance. Some might have called those scenes were exaggeratedly innocent. But she loved every one of them, and how in such blatant ways they stated that love was all-powerful.

Indeed, having felt love so little in her life, Sev seconded the idea whole-heartedly.

Frodo watched her fascination as she pondered those scenes, how she would wistfully rub her arm and lightly bite her lips until they paled from pressure.

Her mind wandered, as did her gaze, flickering to Frodo. She thought him asleep, but still said nothing out loud to herself. She didn't go anywhere, knowing he would want to see the rest of Rivendell. And Troneterra, she wanted to go with him. She hadn't seen it either, but figured watching his excitement would be enough. Hopefully they could stay for at least a week before going back to the Shire.

The Shire. Sev exhaled slowly, and her head sank back against the wall. Gandalf said Frodo's wound was permanent. Nothing would be the same; nothing could be. In theory. Maybe Frodo would be strong enough . . . but Willation had laid heavy stress on the dangers of the Morgul blade. Although Frodo had received healing, Sev didn't know if the consequence of darkness and pain were permanent. Even under the hands of the Elves, Willation said, the shadow could replenish itself. Once impacted it could not turn Frodo into a wraith, but pain would always be there.

Sev stood to leave, and Frodo stilled as her gaze turned back to him. She faltered in place; he looked so relaxed, his features sweet and gentle. She wondered what he dreamed about as she silently padded over to his bed. She didn't want to awaken him, but could have gotten away with more than she did if she wished. Even so, she felt like she was pushing it, and it surprised her when she didn't see an awakening response.

She laid her forehead very carefully against his own, and her heart thudded inside of her as she did. The warmth numbed Frodo immediately, so he couldn't entirely tell that they were touching, only for sake of being tangled in mild exhaustion and muddle from her sudden approach. She pulled away and brushed the hair from his face, cleared it so she could softly kiss his cheek.

Frodo strained not to react, and fought with himself not to turn that last inch and feel her lips against his—to make that illusion a reality as he wanted it. But a small grin escaped him as warmth fluttered through him. Sev felt him move, and she jolted suddenly away, hissing slightly at herself.

 _Leave him alone_ , she snapped.

"Sev." He almost told her, but shut his mouth, hoping she hadn't heard him. She jolted, not expecting him to wake up. She cursed at herself again for waking him up.

"Yes, Frodo?"

Frodo's eyes flickered open when he realized her voice had moved. He blinked when he saw her hand on the doorknob. "Where are you going?"

Sev smirked. "Where you cannot until you are dressed." She cackled on her way out. Frodo rolled out of bed as she began to explore Rivendell, peering about the bright halls. She didn't want to do it without him as much, so she found the roof above Frodo's room and nestled between the wooden shingles.


	15. Hobbit Elf

In the meantime, Frodo shed the white sheet surrounding him, as well as the bandage about his shoulder. While he unwrapped the latter, his eyes narrowed and one brow arched. A dark scar, a crater of skin in his flesh, throbbed coldly. He fingered it carefully; the blackness inside the crater looked like liquid. An icy tingle stabbed through his bone, and he snapped back. A dark imprint of black poison remained on his finger.

Frodo quickly located his old clothes, but left the cloak behind. But as he dressed he found a beautiful little book, mahogany and bound in gold with a leather latch on the front. He picked it up carefully; he had no doubt Rivendell had vast libraries, and perhaps Sev had borrowed this one.

Or brought it.

Frodo clicked open the latch just to glance inside. A dedication met him in scrawled ink: _Yes, Willation bound it, but it's from both of us. We'll miss you, Seville! Love, Sher_

So it had come with Sev. Frodo wondered what could be so important within for her to take it and not food. He flipped to the next page; it must have been a worthy story indeed. It began with a date, and sounded like a journal. The entries were largely repetitive, speaking of despair and darkness in a bittersweet sort of way, as though darkness were a part of the protagonist's life.

He quickly learned—skimming the book—that the protagonist was a girl, forged under Alchemical circumstances to prevent a life from being taken. Resultantly, the girl lived a life against reality itself, an anti-creature with no hope for a future or a family, living and breathing agony. As soon as the prologue ended and the true story began, Frodo couldn't stop shifting through the pages. Something about the author's tone struck a familiar chord, one he'd grown to love, he realized. He shook it off; it did sound like Sev. Perhaps she had written the book. He did know she was moody, but this story had no romance, so something didn't quite match her here.

Lo and behold, a romantic interest appeared. Frodo didn't understand, however: the author downplayed the male's role, stating that he was simply a friend and could not become more. But whenever she described him, over the next 13 years of journal entry, admiration filled her words, admiration that she cast down for its ridiculousness.

Having skimmed the entire thing, Frodo didn't entirely know what either of them looked like. But the moment he saw the description of said romantic interest, he paused.

 _His hair looks soft. Chocolate, but soft; I refuse to touch it. I'd never stop! I wish you could hear me laugh at my own statement, but I suppose me from the future will understand. I promise, I know I'm being ridiculous. But his face . . . I've wanted to kiss him for a long time. I can't believe—all right, I'm just fantasizing now. He's my very best friend, you know. We read together. And when we read, he gets stuck in the book. It's so cool to watch! Hobbits just don't do that. His eyes grow sharp, and his hands tense. But then I can't help but think that I've touched those hands . . . but he doesn't care like I do._

 _I think I love him._

 _And I think I love him because—well, not only because he's my friend and because he's the most amazing creature I've ever met, but because of his eyes. That sounds really silly . . . let me explain, please. That's the most precious part of him. His eyes are this . . . gah, I can't even begin to describe them. Crystal blue, and huge, but that's not it. They're . . . bright. He's so innocent. He loves life, he loves people . . . he knows what love is like, and he uses it everywhere, spreads it to everyone. I've even felt him care for me from time to time. He has everything I don't, is everything I can never be, and possesses everything I admire in this world. He knows so little of pain; he's lost his parents._ The ink began to blot, as though watered slightly. _I can't imagine what that was like. But he has his uncle Bilbo now._

Frodo lurched. Somehow he'd been expecting this to come up. He glanced up at the date. April 10th; that didn't help. The year marked 8. He glanced back at the beginning; the first date was marked with year -20. An asterisk marked the -20, and he glanced down.

 _-20 – Shire-Reckoning, 2985_ _th_ _year of the Third Age. In case I ever get curious, because I will undoubtedly forget what years these were._

Frodo did a quick calculation and concluded that this April entry had happened five years before the most recent April. Five years. She'd loved him for at least five years . . . if not longer. Frodo thought back to when he met her. They'd been together 13 years. He shook his head. So long. His eyes flickered back to the book. Those many times she'd mentioned loving him. She meant it.

He flipped the page back to where he'd left off and quickly caught where to pick up from.

 _So he's my family. Bilbo, I mean. Frodo . . . I wish I could call him family. I guess I can, but not in the way I—you know what, never mind that. He's as close to me as anyone has ever been, although I'm sure he's had relationships stronger than mine with him. His parents, for example._

 _I sigh. There's nothing I can do except continue to protect him. That's become my goal in life, you know; I have nothing else to live for. Had I not found him I would have bled myself a long time ago; I deserve nothing more than to die here, but somehow I have Frodo Baggins in my life, and haven't found the courage to let him go._

The entry ended there, and Frodo set the book aside, dazed. Sev had dark blood; Sev was no hobbit, but an anti-creature. Sev had no parents, no family, no home . . . because she carried darkness as her life.

Frodo stepped numbly out of his room, trying to process. But everything made so much more sense, knowing what he did. How she acted, how she lived, her entire present being. He walked to the edge of a balcony, buttoning the vest he realized he hadn't gotten to. Sev glanced down from her roof, entranced by the hobbit. She cocked her head and stepped to the edge of the shingles; he did look like an Elf, graceful and bright.

But unlike the Elves he cared about her.

She stepped down from the roof to join him. He jolted when she approached, feeling the numb warmth against him. Now that he understood he debated asking her, talking to her about what had happened, but when Sam approached from behind them he didn't dare. She saw something tampering with his mind, though, but let it pass as Sam told Frodo to come with him.

"I have a surprise for you, Mr. Frodo." Then he turned to Sev. "I think you'll be excited too, Ms. Sev."

Sam allowed them to walk around, admiring the Elvish tranquility of Rivendell. Frodo told him they would find his surprise on the way, and he conceded. Soon they ran into Pippin and Merry. Frodo spun excitedly, embracing and leaping with the other hobbits. Sev stepped away, but Merry crushed her to him. She laughed and patted his back before moving on to Pippin. In all this excitement everyone hugged everyone, and eventually Sev leaped into Frodo's arms. It took a wave of warmth for Frodo to realize what had just happened . . . and the difference between embracing an energetic Merry or docile Sam and a fragile Sev. He moved to set her down, but found he didn't want to let go. She shifted in his grasp, a little uncertain at the length of the embrace, but at least she didn't feel uncomfortable. So she hugged him back.

Before Pippin or Merry could start teasing them, Sam grabbed Frodo's shoulder. Frodo lurched away, and Sev felt her resolve slip out. She drooped a little in place until Sam pointed nearby.

"There's your surprise, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo smiled wider, and Sev gasped.

"Bilbo!" Frodo's voice was overlapped by Sev's: "Master Bilbo!" Frodo leaped forward, and Bilbo stood to meet him.

"Frodo, my lad!" They embraced, and Sev backed away, taken by the tender moment. Bilbo released his nephew after a long moment, then beckoned to Sev. She embraced Bilbo as well. He held her tightly enough that she couldn't breathe, but she hugged him regardless. Frodo cocked his head, wondering at how Bilbo could hold her as long as he wished. Frodo let back on his heel a little bit.

Bilbo took Frodo aside to look at the Red Book of Westmarch. He dismissed Pippin, Merry, Sam, and Sev to go eat with the Elves. But Sev did not go, not after Bilbo gestured to her with a wave of his hand. Sev stuffed herself up above them on a stone ledge.

Frodo sat down on a stone bench Bilbo gestured him to. He opened the huge red book; he'd never gotten to look inside before. He flipped over the huge cover, feeling the crisp pages rub between his fingers. His gaze turned to the gentle calligraphy.

"'There and Back Again . . . a Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins!'" He beamed up at his uncle. Sev's spine tingled. She always had wondered what his sharp, entranced gaze sounded like in his voice, and as he read she could hear it. "This is wonderful," he murmured, flipping through diagrams, drawings, maps, and chapters upon chapters of story.

"I meant to go back," Bilbo said. "Visit Laketown, see the Lonely Mountain again." He strained to sit down beside Frodo. "But age, it seems, has finally caught up with me."

Frodo turned back to the book. His breath caught and his Morgul stab stung with cold when he saw the map before him.

"The Shire," he breathed. He turned slowly back to Bilbo, and Sev faltered at his sad tone. "I spent all my childhood pretending I was off somewhere else—of with you, on one of your adventures!" A smile tried to rise to his face, but it fell easily as he thought of what this adventure had entailed: learning dark things, thinking and feeling what he didn't want to feel. Nothing about growth or excitement, only pain. "My own adventure turned out quite different. I'm not like you, Bilbo."

Sev bit back a whimper and slammed her eyes shut.

Bilbo tenderly fingered his nephew's jaw. "Oh, my dear boy."

They talked of many things following that . . . things Frodo wanted Sev to hear, for Bilbo had told him Sev would come with them. She didn't understand most of the things Frodo said, as they were mostly his thought processes concerning what he had read, how he felt darkness and pain, and how he wanted to help. But Bilbo caught on; he gave him advice, addressed in a way that Sev wouldn't understand. Frodo didn't need her to. He just needed to know what to do.

In a word, Bilbo told him to hang on; Sev would let him know when the time was right to step forward.

Frodo went back to find Sam, and did little more than mull over Sev's history as he went.

Sev snaked out from atop the balcony and paced below, thinking Bilbo had departed as well. But Bilbo gestured to her once she saw him, and she sheepishly joined him on the bench.

"Frodo would have wanted you to be here. Come sit, my dear Seville."

He slipped his arm around her and squeezed. "And how has our little she-hobbit been holding up with all of this?"

Despite her immediate tension at Bilbo's touch, Sev saw the sincerity in his eyes and crumbled to it. She shook her head, biting back a sting in her eyes and throat. "It's hard to watch him go through so much pain." Her eyes closed again, and her gaze shuffled away. She'd had the responsibility to keep him safe, given by herself, Strider, Bilbo, and Gandalf. And she promised Frodo she wouldn't let them hurt him. She'd failed. Why he still cared for her was beyond her anti-creature capacity to understand.

Bilbo nodded sadly, patting her shoulder. She didn't look at him. "Adventuring was certainly more fortunate for me," he said, "but I'm glad it's over for Frodo. Now you can all go home."

She shook her head, finally turning with a slight grin. "I love Rivendell. I would love to stay just a little longer, give Frodo more time to heal." Then she paused. "Gandalf said the wound was permanent." She shook her head persistently this time, imagining the consequences. So the Ring wouldn't destroy Frodo; this would. She thought they were safe, but they could never be, not now. "It can't be, Bilbo. That would destroy him."

Bilbo sighed. "I fear it will."

She didn't want to process the idea; that beautiful light in Frodo's eyes . . . it would fall away. Then a question popped up in her mind, one she would have asked Bilbo had she not known where he went to. "Not to change the subject . . ."

Bilbo cocked his head.

". . . But did Frodo ever kiss you on the forehead before night?"

Bilbo shrugged. "Once in a while. Usually whenever he was feeling particularly lonely or bookish, the dear lad." Bilbo nudged her and waggled his eyebrows. "Or if he'd been talking to you."

She froze, and a quick blush rose to her face, easily transitioning from standard gray to a rare purple.

Bilbo grinned then. "Seville, he cares for you at least as much as he cares for me. And your attraction to him is no secret, leastwise for me. I understand."

She only blushed even darker. She didn't entirely want to process what that entailed; it would be too much to ask for Frodo to be attracted to her, even if all evidence indicated so and she wanted it to be true. Bilbo chuckled. "He may need a good talking-to. He may not want to leave Rivendell, either."

"Then let us not depart!" she declared jocosely. She stood abruptly, and Bilbo's gaze followed her. "We shall arise against our captors and remain in Rivendell!" She smirked as Bilbo laughed. She waved goodbye and walked back to Frodo's room to think.


	16. And In the Darkness Burn Her

As Frodo roamed Rivendell, he found Sam standing against the end of a balcony overlooking the canyon river by the city. Sam muttered something about not forgetting anything.

Frodo felt something tense deep down. He didn't want to leave yet. "Packed already?"

Sam straightened slightly, then shrugged. "No harm in being prepared."

"I thought you wanted to see the Elves, Sam," Frodo responded, turning away.

"I do!"

"More than anything."

"I did! It's just . . ." Sam sighed. "We did what Gandalf wanted, didn't we? We brought the Ring this far to Rivendell, and I thought—well, seeing as how you're on the mend, I thought we'd be off soon." He paused. "Off home."

Frodo stilled, thinking about his conversation with Bilbo earlier, then reflecting for a brief moment on how going home would change him. He'd learned things about Sev, and now that the painful part had passed perhaps he could tighten their friendship. Going home meant he could change his life now, and it wouldn't be half as difficult as the past few weeks had been. Besides, he missed the Shire.

"You're right, Sam." He turned to face his gardener. "I am ready to go home." He pulled out the Ring, pristine and perfect in his palm. "The Ring will be safe here in Rivendell."

After wandering about Rivendell a little more, Sam departed to eat again, at the Elves' table but a little too close to the last meal for the Elves' comfort. Frodo turned to go back to his room; he wondered if Sev would be there or if she had taken to prowling about the Elvish city.

Before he opened the door to his chambers, Sev had already processed a great deal. She feared pursuing Frodo for the wound he possessed now. She feared exposure to it, anticipating that she would nearly kill him trying to get it. She shuddered, drawing into herself. That dancing chill of absolute, wicked pleasure up her arm, the flood of energy through her system . . . she couldn't take it. She only hoped she would never have to lay eyes on his scar again. She banged her head against the wall behind her, resisting the hunger she had to grab him and drain that poison however she could.

While she sorted that idea out, her thoughts turned back to Frodo. She sighed, sinking against her wall. He would never be the same. The light had not gone from his eyes, but pain and darkness left a slight, black glaze over them. Perhaps no one else could see it, but it had begun. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing else could claim him like the Morgul knife had. And if she tried to take the poison from him, if she ever hurt him, she swore to herself she would go drain herself of sustenance. Even if it meant leaving Frodo, although that last thought made her shudder.

Frodo slipped inside, a little surprised to see Sev there. The dangerous light glimmering in her eyes stirred a little initial fear inside of him, until he saw the rest of her and knew this was not someone to fear, but a friend he loved. He sat down on the bed, expecting her to join him. But she remained against the wall, a dark glare lacing her features.

He cocked his head. "Sam's packed," he said. Her eyes flickered to him at last, widening when she snapped out of her thought train. She settled as she watched him.

She still didn't move to sit by him, so he decided to say it. "The wall is that comfortable?"

"Better than standing up," she replied in sarcastic jocosity. Frodo shook his head, patting the bed beside him. Sev nervously sat beside him, and warmth overwhelmed him. His dream came back to him when she settled under his arm, and he found his hand lifting a little to frame her face, bring her lips to his own as his other arm surrounded her shoulders. He fought it, and his hand dropped, defeated, into his lap.

Sev sank into the mattress, biting back an exclamation of ecstasy. She'd never felt a mattress before. Frodo brought his arm from around her shoulders, and she flopped back with a great moan.

"To Troneterra with a couch in the woods!" she cried, relishing the soft, white covers. "Glory to Rivendell and their angelic beds!"

Frodo laughed outright. "So I'm the devil sleeping in the angelic bed?"

Sev curled up behind him. "No. You can't have it; it's mine now. Get out of here, devil!" She shoved her hand over his eyes; her sudden warmth tingled against his Morgul stab, fighting it back. All too soon she pulled back for realization of what Frodo had said a few moments before. "Sam's packed?"

Frodo nodded, a little dizzy at her hand to his face. Now his wound rang through him with cold. "We're leaving after Elrond's council in three days," he clarified.

Sev set her jaw, and her eyebrows narrowed. "No! We are revolting. Leastwise, I am. You can go home if you want to, but I'm staying in Rivendell . . . with the Elves and their angelic beds . . ." She moaned again, curling into a little ball. Frodo ruffled her hair—but stopped, letting his hand linger against her warm forehead. Chills danced up his arm. He hadn't kissed her forehead for some time, but now would not be the moment for that.

Unless he explained to her how he felt. Then he could possibly even claim her lips, but he wasn't ready to say anything. His hand fell limp on the bed as he studied her face.

Sev felt the moment growing too tense for her to tolerate. She slipped her gentle fingers about Frodo's wrist—he shuddered slightly, almost wishing roughness would accompany jocosity for Sev—and picked it up, inspecting it. She dropped it suddenly back on the bed.

"Yep. Dead. I figured." She glanced up at him, humor dancing in her eyes. "We'd better amputate that, Frodo."

Frodo chuckled. "Wrong arm, Sev." He limply shook his left arm. "And this one isn't even entirely dead."

"Well, what if I licked it? Would it live?" She stretched out her tongue, then broke out laughing. Frodo did as well, and she clapped his shoulder as she stood.

"Come; we must feed you something." She extended a hand, and when he accepted it she pulled him to his feet. After so many years it felt actually somewhat initial, and so neither let go, walking side by side with their fingers entwined. Then Frodo registered that he no longer considered her just a friend, but someone he loved, and yet he didn't want to let go now. Sev had gotten used to treating such a situation casually, feeling Frodo's gentle fingers between her own, so although she stirred deep within she said nothing.

But when they walked in to the Elvish dining hall, Pippin gawked, and Sev suddenly yanked her hand away. Frodo turned to her, a little surprised, until he saw Merry beginning to glance over as well. He sat down beside Sam while Sev took her place beside Merry. She wanted to sit with Frodo, but knew the consequences of doing it, particularly in front of the three other hobbits.

The Elvish food laid out for them (courtesy of Pippin's insistence that all meals of the day be honored in Rivendell) had a sweet aroma to it, and when Sev bit in she felt she would never stop. This was more addicting than draining, but she held back. Frodo did not eat ravenously, but was hungry enough to enjoy the Elvish food.

Pippin's eyes rolled back with pleasure when he bit into a honeycrisp apple. He glanced at Sev, lifting up a small cake. He leaned over Merry to catch her attention.

"You know, Sev, all you have to do to get any husband you want is cook like this." He eyed the food in his hand intently, then dug right back into it.

She laughed, feeling a little bitterness within but not letting it show. "Chances are excellent I would have to in order to have any shot at getting married." Most at the table laughed, but Frodo felt a slight pang when Pippin brought up "husband," and he didn't understand why.

Frodo glanced up at Sev, then laid a hand down on the table. "You'll do fine, Sev."

She blinked, unsure how to take that, but she thanked him anyway and continued eating, for it made her feel a little better. A slight gray shade rose to her face when she wondered if he would ever think of it, but she shoved the notion aside. 13 years of being left to his own, and he had said nothing.

Over the next two days, the hobbits gathered to eat and sing. Merry teased Sev for loving Frodo's rich, high-register voice (which, when she heard it, caused her to stop singing and listen), but she blushed and refused to ratify or deny the accusation.

Otherwise Sev and Frodo kept mostly to themselves, often walking about Rivendell together or reading, the latter factor being either together or separate. Whenever Frodo wanted to continue in Sev's journal, he pulled back to himself. While Sev didn't understand his isolation, she often had a need to be alone, and would go perch behind one of Rivendell's waterfalls.

The day before Elrond's council, Frodo considered head-on what lingered in the back of his mind since Strider mentioned the Lay of Luthien . . . that being what more Sev would possibly do for him. He wondered if she would have carried the Ring; perhaps she would have been more capable, wouldn't have succumbed to wearing it on Weathertop. She certainly seemed to despise it more than anything.

He approached her when he could actually find her; she hid on the roof all morning, not ready to leave Rivendell. When she came down she saw Frodo; she knew he would go to the council. She had not been invited, but did intend to confront Elrond about the subject. She wanted to make sure no one did anything to Frodo in her absence.

Sev barreled straight to find Elrond, but Frodo stopped her. He grabbed her shoulder and she halted, turning slightly. He didn't understand the darkness in her eyes, why they were suddenly full of anxiety and thin patience.

"Sev?"

Sev settled, realizing as she relaxed that she was glad he still lived. She didn't really want as much to stand up to Lord Elrond as she did just to feel Frodo's fingers, or at least his presence.

"What is it, Frodo?" she asked, turning to him.

He hesitated, not ready to pull back. His thumb traced her shoulder slightly—then he shook his head and continued. Sev watched him, perplexed. "The Ring. Sev, would you have carried the Ring if I asked you to?"

Sev's eyebrows shot up. "Of course!" _I would do anything you asked._ She shook the latter answer off, then lowered her voice. "Of course I would have."

Frodo kept his hand on her shoulder and slipped his other one into his pocket, sliding the cold metal into his fingers. It pulled on him . . . but its pull to get to Sev was stronger. He felt himself stepping closer to her, felt the Ring dragging him to her until she backed up against the wall, uncertain about what to do. She did not back away from his nearness, but from the Ring. Her heartbeat filled her ears, thudding painfully as the enticing little circlet of gold tugged at her, whispering and begging.

Her breathing began to swell.

"I feel like you would have been more capable of carrying it," Frodo said finally, watching the little exchange between Sev and the Ring, unsure. But something about the Ring yearned to be with Sev, even if Frodo felt a little attached to it. He held it before her, his opposite arm up on the wall by her shoulder. Perhaps the Ring thought she would give in easily, but Frodo doubted she would. "Perhaps you ought to try now."

Sev shook her head slightly, feeling the strength of the Ring's pull. While she loathed the thing with her very being, she couldn't explain her need to snatch it from him. "I can't," she said under her breath. But then her eyes flickered open. She had to understand Frodo's pain, had to understand what had happened to him. He didn't look hurt at her response, but did back away. She grabbed his shoulder. "But if I can prove to you that I would have done it on your behalf, then I'll do it now."

Frodo moved to give it to her, but her back met the wall again. Her eyes squeezed shut as he lifted her hand from her side and gently set the Ring down in the center of her soft palm. Sev flinched when the metal, now warmed by Frodo's hand, touched her skin. He left her, stepped back to see if she would coax to it.

Sev's eyes squeezed open one by one, and she glanced at the Ring. She began to tremble—subsequently Frodo reached forward to take the Ring. But something whispered for him to stay back. He battled with his thought. He didn't like where this was going.

But his fears quieted slightly when Sev's eyes changed. She glanced at the Ring with interest. This was no attraction to the Ring's power, rather an appreciation of the simple aesthetics—the unadulterated circle of smooth, shining gold—that quickly escalated. Her fingers wrapped around it, flicking it over and over in her hands. She set it back in her palm, feeling she had conquered it. She moved to give it back to Frodo, but suddenly the Ring knew she would give it up. It had to drain her blood, the dark power within her . . .

Sev lurched. The Ring flamed against her skin. Her blood fought back, straining to take the Ring's darkness—Sauron's own soul—from it to feed her. Friction flared in her palm. The whispers of the Dark Lord swelled to loud hisses, filling the room with shadow. Frodo reached forward, but then the writing of fire carved into the Ring, and a flame erupted from Sev's palm with the darkness she held. She cried out, and her fingers crushed over the Ring as she collapsed to the floor.

"Sev!" Frodo knelt down beside her. The hisses vanished, and the room returned to its light state, but Sev continually grappled with the Ring on the floor. She writhed and groaned in horrible pain and struggle; she could feel herself losing. While she had taken bits and pieces of the Ring's power, the Ring was stronger. The poison in her system drained to the will of the Ring. She cursed it over and over in her head as pain and weakness took over.

Frodo grabbed her arms. Smoke ascended from her palm, but she resisted him, something deep within determined not to let him get hurt.

"Sev! Sev, let go of the Ring!" He strained against her tight fold, but when he could do nothing else he grabbed her shoulders and stood her up. He flinched; the soft warmth of her skin had shot to scalding heat. He tightened his hold on her sleeves alone, shaking her. "Sev!"

Hearing Frodo's voice ebbed away at her battle. She yanked and pulled, determined to see him one last time before the Ring took her blood. She let out a gasp of a cry, and her hands flew away from the Ring. The little circlet of metal, defeated in its purposes but fed with a darkness that could easily revive its master, rolled away and clattered against the wall.

Tears trickled initially down Sev's face, and she scrambled away, slamming to the floor. She breathed heavily as she curled into a pained little ball. Frodo abandoned the Ring and knelt by her side. She began to inspect her palm but hurried to hide it when he approached.

But he saw the black scar before she could conceal it: it was an ugly, perfectly round etching into her hand. It marked her as the Ring's forever now, a brand of blackness and pain.

"Sev . . ." Frodo grabbed her and held her close to him. She shuddered in his embrace. He laid a hand in her hair, tightened his hold. He promised himself never to let her touch the Ring again.

Sev shook her head against his heart. She could hear his pulse echo against her ear. "I still would have carried it." She bit back a whimper at the pain in her palm.

Frodo lowered his hand and picked up hers with both of his own, releasing her body from his hold. She tried to back away, but he kept her hand (not really noticing her attempt to yank her hand back—she wasn't strong enough for that) and inspected the scar. He traced the little circle, leaning closer to look at it. Sev inhaled sharply as pain shot up her arm, but she quickly relaxed at his tender touch.

Frodo's eyes flickered up to her face, but she was not watching him. So he felt a little safer to do what he wished. He barely brushed his lips to her scar, and she stiffened. The skin of her wound was hot relative to the rest of her. He wanted to kiss it again and again, let her know he cared, but he couldn't do it now. Perhaps, one day, he could.

He brought her back into his arms, and she collapsed against him, finally allowing her tears to flow at the sharp pain in her hand.

"Now you won't have to," he said in response to her statement of a moment ago. He waited a decently long time, long enough that she wondered when he would leave her to mourn alone. But she felt comfortable in his company, and as he remained longer and longer she felt her resolve failing. Her head collapsed into his lap, her legs tucked up against her. She thought about falling asleep, could have even with Frodo tracing her hair back from her face.

After a good hour and a half, Sam came in to get them for dinner. Sev slipped away from Frodo, stepping over to the Ring. Frodo stood abruptly.

"Sev."

She turned back to look at him. She'd wrapped her scarred hand in her cloak, but then thought the better of it and used her unscarred hand to reach down for the Ring. She glanced up.

"I'll get it," he said. He followed her and picked up the Ring, now cold. It pulled for Sev, but Frodo yanked it back, stuffing it in his pocket. Sev followed it with her gaze, and a growl escaped her before she could stop it.

Frodo reached for her hand. She hesitantly glanced down, wanting the comfort. She reached forward as well, and her fingers slipped into his. Her scar throbbed, and she winced. Frodo didn't notice, but she didn't want to let go. He walked her in to dinner.


	17. Puzzle

**Not the best chapter. :P But I'm ready for the sappy chapters; those might be a while before they come up. I hope this one at least adds exposition?**

Once Frodo left for bed, Sev approached Lord Elrond. He stiffened when she came close, but then settled out of courtesy.

"Seville." He inclined his head.

She bowed. "Lord Elrond."

"What dealings would you have with me, young Halfling?"

She lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. She cleared her expression and continued. "Sir, I wish to be present for the Council tomorrow."

Elrond's eyes narrowed. "And where did you learn of this Council?"

"Lord Elrond, I hope you will pardon my persistence, but I did not eavesdrop on any conversation, classified or otherwise," Sev said somewhat darkly. "Frodo Baggins is my closest companion, and has not only entrusted me with information concerning the time, place, location, and purpose of the Council tomorrow, but many other things. I have been entrusted with his life by many, and I intend to fulfill my duties in caring for him if you will let me." Sev inhaled slowly, and her eyes sank closed. Her fists clenched at her sides, and she sucked in a breath when one of her fingernails carved into her scar. Her eyes opened again. "Lord Elrond, if you do not permit me to approach the Council, rest assured I shall not be there. But I beg of you, give me a chance. I only ask for the opportunity to protect my charge and my friend."

Elrond frowned. "Seville, you are a creature of darkness. This Council comes with the purpose of destroying darkness."

"As though I have not desired or attempted to destroy myself," Sev said gravely, containing her need to hiss. "I have, Lord Elrond. I know what a disgusting, dark thing I am and the danger I possess. I will do nothing at the Council but watch Frodo. I will even be in the bushes more silent than an Elf prince's arrow if you wish it. Just let me protect him."

Elrond regarded her carefully. "If you must." He waved a hand. "But if there is one movement from you to attack or influence anyone, you will not be permitted to stay."

She bowed. "Of course, Lord Elrond. I thank you for your consideration." She wanted to defend herself, insist he did not know her character, her intentions, what she desired, what she loathed . . . whom she loved and wanted to protect above anything. She swallowed and backed away from the Elf. Black blood from her newly opened scar trickled down her arm; she buckled to hide the pain as she tried to walk, but she had to wait until it healed.

She slipped back to the door before Frodo's room. She heard him say her name, so she knocked. There was no response. He didn't know how to continue, and decided to feign sleep to avoid saying something he would regret in the morning.

"Frodo?" she whispered, poking her head in. She could hear him breathing deeply when she listened. She smiled to herself. Still alive, still breathing. No harsh response from Elrond or anyone else could top the happiness she felt around Frodo. She glanced down at her scar, traced the little patch of skin that still tingled when she remembered the soft way his lips touched there. She held her hand to her heart; it may have been a scar, but it carried a positive permanence now as well.

She backed out. "Good night, Frodo," she whispered. "I love you."

The door closed behind her, and Frodo's eyes eased open. He glanced tiredly into the darkness. "I love you too."

Frodo awakened early, anxious for the Council of Elrond. Elves, dwarves, and men had come from all over Middle Earth for this gathering. Frodo did not anticipate saying very much, or learning very much, but Elrond still wanted him there.

He opened the door and almost stepped on Sev's sleeping form. He startled back, glancing down at her. He bent down and crouched against her. She still had her cloak; somehow she seemed more secure in it.

Frodo let his hand rest on her shoulder, trace her arm. Her fingers were clutched tightly around her scar, hands entwined together. Frodo nimbly leaped over her, then cocked his head. He rested it on the ground close to hers. He brushed the swathes of hair from her face; she had such thick hair. He'd never seen it anything but down and wild, roaming like an untamed bush around her face and shoulders.

She looked less sinister in her sleep. Frodo wondered at the stark blackness of her lips. He sighed, knowing to search her more would be to kiss her and awaken her that way. He reached forward and shook her shoulder. "Sev."

Sev's eyes flickered open, and it surprised her to see Frodo there. She smiled.

"Good morning." Then she yawned, her eyes growing from exhausted to resistant. "It's time to get up, Frodo," she mumbled. Then her brow furrowed. "How long have you been out here?" She hoped he hadn't been watching her for long. Well . . . on some level she hoped he had, but she didn't anticipate it.

Frodo shrugged. "Not long."

Sev moved to stand, but Frodo put a hand on her shoulder, laid her back down. "We don't have to leave for some time. Pippin won't be up for breakfast for an hour."

Sev frowned. "Why did you wake me up?" Then she smirked as she burrowed into the ground.

"To put you back to sleep," Frodo said, straining to his feet. Sev sat up.

"Why do you get to stand up?"

Frodo extended a hand, and she accepted it. He pulled her into the room, not minding to shut the door behind him. Sev was grateful for that.

Frodo pulled aside the covers of the bed. "It's yours, you know."

Sev gawked at him.

Frodo held up his hands. "You kicked me out. It's yours."

Sev slipped inside, moaning as she rolled around. Frodo laughed uncontrollably, and she shot a dizzy glare at him. She never could have imagined anything so comfortable—she didn't understand why he laughed.

"You can laugh," she retorted, "but this is seriously—mmm . . ." Sev rolled about, burying her face in the pillow beside her. Frodo chuckled again and knelt beside the bed, fingering her hair a little bit.

"Devil-friends give their friends beautiful things sometimes," Sev mumbled into the white fabric, "but this is the most beautiful of all of them."

Frodo pondered that. She'd never had a bed in her life. No family, nothing. Frodo cocked his head. He'd given her a couch. Bag End had at least one spare mattress; he intended to give it to her when they got home. She wouldn't come inside, but a full bed out on the lawn would probably please her quite well.

Frodo watched her. She settled into sweet rest, breathing deeply. His brow creased; he hadn't realized the effect such a gift would have on her. He sighed and sat back. If they ever stayed another night at Rivendell, he would insist she stay in the bed. He would sleep in the closet if necessary, or out on the floor where she had been.

He rubbed his hand across her back. It hit him how much he cared for her.

He let her alone until Merry burst in, excitedly announcing breakfast. He moved to leap on Sev and wake her up, but Frodo held him back.

"Merry! Merry, I'll wake her up! Merry!" Frodo shoved against his cousin, knowing Sev wouldn't be too pleased. She likely wouldn't more than glare, but Frodo knew how uncomfortable physical excitement was for her.

"Sev!" Merry called out. "Sev, wake up!"

Sev's eyes flickered open, and she turned over, stretching. She ran her hands down her waist to stretch her shoulders. "Good morning, Merry," she yawned, raising her arms.

"It's time for breakfast, Sev!" Merry jostled through Frodo and leaped on Sev. Frodo heard her growl slightly, and he winced. She embraced Merry back, though, and he quickly leaped away to eat, clapping Frodo's shoulder as he went.

Sev sighed and sat up, her hair tousled. She liked Merry; he resonated with a flirtatious sort of cheer, but most hobbits had no physical bubble. Sev certainly did, and being pushed upon physically pained her. She folded her hands across her lap, then glanced up at Frodo with a weak smile. She winced as she rubbed against her shoulder. Her entire front ached, as did her cheek from where Merry had pressed his own against her. Her eyes clenched shut.

"He was going to wake you up that way," Frodo said, sitting down beside her.

Sev nodded. "Thank you, Sir Baggins." She turned to him and fluttered her eyelids. "You saved me." Then she cackled as his face turned bright pink. She nudged him, but did not pull back. He let his arm around her shoulders casually, but he didn't take it as casually as the action had been.

"Seriously, though," she continued, "that wouldn't exactly have been pleasant to wake up to." She glanced at his shoulder. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

Frodo frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She blinked. "You aren't hurt when you're touched?"

Frodo shook his head slowly. "I don't understand."

"Pressure causes me to ache," she replied. "I didn't know that wasn't usually the case." She grabbed his hand and folded it over her arm, then pressed. Her eyes flickered with pain a few moments later, and Frodo pulled his hand back. He saw no mark on her, and he hadn't felt as though his skin had gone very far into her.

She rubbed the area where Frodo's hand had been. "I know there's nothing to show it," she said, "and apparently there's no reason for it. But somehow any level of real pressure hurts a little bit." She bit her lip. "Pay it no mind, Frodo, you've never done it to me, really."

He pointed at her arm. "You've just broken my record."

She cackled wickedly. "Of course I did! It had to be done; you were never going to do it yourself!" Then she smiled up at him. "You're cracked, you know."

He laughed. "Not until you told me."

She gawked, but she could tell he didn't mean it. "I suppose the crazy don't recognize it." She clapped her hand over her heart. "Those of us who are sane, however . . ." She trailed off.

"Sane?" Frodo laughed again.

Sev sighed. "Ah, but you are right. I suppose I would only be your friend if you and I were both crazy . . . and both hungry." Her eyes lit up. She stood and strode for the door.

Frodo paused. "But you don't need food."

Sev's expression dropped to the ground. She didn't remember telling him that, but decided she must have in order for him to know. People simply didn't know these things. She turned back to him. "No. But you do." She turned and continued walking, leaving Frodo a little perplexed on the bed.


	18. The Council of Elrond

Sometime during the late afternoon, Gandalf approached Frodo and beckoned him to come. Frodo stood, and Sev followed. Gandalf glowered at her and tried to dismiss her.

"Gandalf, I want her to come with me," Frodo said. "She will harm no one."

Gandalf and Sev both froze, the former from confused suspicion and the latter from shock. She turned to him, wondering why on Earth he would know something like that.

Gandalf shook out of it first. "Frodo, this meeting is by invitation alone. I'm sure Lord Elrond would be rather disappointed to have the Elf conduct disrupted, particularly by a creature such as this."

Sev felt a hurt blush rising to her face. "Gandalf, I have requested permission the Council of Elrond from the Lord of Rivendell himself, and he has admitted my presence only on the grounds that I go to alone protect Frodo, and nothing more."

She and Gandalf held each other's gazes for a tense moment before the wizard turned and led Frodo and Sev to the Council of Elrond.

In the low sun, the courtyard seemed to glow orange. Sev stood behind Frodo in the chair closest to Elrond; there were not enough seats, so she did not sit.

Elrond began the Council, introducing the threat of Mordor—all races of the world had to take part in the destiny or doom upon them. He had Frodo present the Ring; Sev tensed and hissed the entire time as he slipped the Ring out of his pocket and set it down carefully on the granite table before him. He felt the burden lifted uneasily from him as he sat back down in front of Sev. She breathed a sigh of relief . . . but something queer whispered to her that this was far from over. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and he felt for it with his fingers. He searched for her scar, but it was the wrong hand.

An argument arose, one where Boromir of Gondor insisted that the Ring could be used for good. At his persistence—which seemed to become dangerous—Gandalf stood and began speaking in a dark tongue. Frodo ducked away as darkness overshadowed Rivendell. But Sev felt somehow sickeningly drawn to the words, perking up to hear the hisses, cracks, and slides in the language. Elrond shot her a glare as her blood began to race, causing a dark glow in her eyes.

When Gandalf stopped, Sev settled, frightened by her initial reaction to darkness.

Strider then moved in, saying the Ring could do nothing. Boromir challenged him, and an Elf prince, Legolas, stood to defend Strider, saying he was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. Frodo stared for a moment; he had been traveling with the heir of Isildur, future king of men. Aragorn quieted Legolas.

Sev didn't understand the severity of the situation, but suddenly understood the grace of Strider that no country traveler should have had.

The discussion over the Ring carried on. Gimli, the dwarf (son of Gloin, evidently) stood to destroy the Ring, and his axe crashed down on the gold. The metal of his axe crashed, splintering into pieces and throwing the dwarf back.

Sev's scar flared with a stabbing pain, and she fell away, clutching her hand. Frodo felt as though the axe had crashed down on him . . . as though the Ring were a part of him. He grabbed his forehead with his hand.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed with any methods we have here," Lord Elrond said gravely. "It must be taken back to where it was forged . . . to the fires of Mount Doom in the land of Mordor."

As the dangers of Mordor were discussed, Sev grabbed the back of Frodo's chair and strained to stand. Frodo breathed heavily, then turned to her.

"The Ring, Sev," he gasped. "I felt it. I can hear it, Sev." She cupped his cheek in her hand and buried a kiss in his hair. He closed his eyes, sinking into her warmth as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kept the other hand on her sword. She glared at the Ring, loathed it for hurting him, for hurting her Frodo. She didn't think of it in those exact words, but she might as well have.

 _You can't have him, you evil sorceress._ The enticing pull of the Ring could be considered no less than an enchantress trying to draw Frodo in to her power. Sev felt a flame of jealousy, then of pain when she remembered what the Ring had done to her.

Then came the time to decide who would take upon themselves the task of the quest, apparently, for the members suddenly began arguing, standing and shouting at one another. Gandalf joined them, attempting to quiet the thick group.

Frodo stared at the Ring. Sev could feel it pulling to her, and she tightened her arm around the hobbit beside her, not wanting to let go. Frodo could see fire building in the Ring, consuming the arguing warriors. In the language of Mordor, that ancient poem cycled through his head: _One Ring to rule them all . . . One Ring to find them . . . One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them . . . One Ring . . . One Ring . . ._

As he stared, tension built in his very core, but it spit at him angrily when suddenly he could see Sev's face, full of fear and sorrow, burned in the fire of the Ring, her blood taken by the darkness that wanted it.

Frodo's head snapped up. "Sev, I have to take it." He glanced back at her, apology lining his face. She thought she'd heard wrong, and leaned forward even as he leaped out of her arms.

"I will take it!"

Sev's heart froze, and her resolve crumbled. She gawked uncontrollably as he repeated his declaration until the fighting stilled: "I will take it!" She shut her eyes and turned away. He was ruining himself for a world he didn't know, and for a world he did. For the Shire. For the people he loved. She slammed her eyes shut. She knew why she loved him, and this only made him more admirable—but then it would hurt all the more when she lost him. She turned away.

Gandalf looked pained as well when he turned his gaze to Frodo.

Frodo stilled, resolute but a little anxious as everyone around him halted. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he said. But then he paused. "Although . . . I do not know the way."

Sev leaped to his side immediately, flicking the emotion from her eyes. "I'm going with you."

Frodo smiled as she slipped her hand into his. "I would have it no other way, Sev," he replied, squeezing her hand. She smiled at him, hoping she could be with him every step to Mordor.

Gandalf joined him next, followed by Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and finally Boromir. Then Sam tore out of the bushes behind them and sprang to Frodo's side. Frodo, shocked, backed into Sev. She made a mental note to thank Sam later.

"Oi! Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me," Sam insisted.

Elrond looked amused. "No indeed, especially not when he is invited to a secret council and you are not."

Merry and Pippin raced out into the open from their hiding places across the courtyard. They slipped into place beside Sev, insisting they were going as well.

"Besides," Pippin asserted, "you need people of intelligence on this mission." He paused. "Quest." He set his expression. "Thing!"

Merry regarded him skeptically. "Well, that rules you out, Pip." Pippin nodded in agreement, then did a double take at his friend.

Elrond studied the group, again amused. "Well. 10 companions. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

Pippin licked his lips. "Great! Where are we going?"

A little excited and a little discouraged for Frodo's continued burden, Sev squeezed his shoulders. Frodo turned to her, fingered her scar. Fear fought hope . . . and fear was winning.

Frodo remembered his dream, as though she were talking to him now.

"Don't leave me, Frodo."

He held her; he never wanted to leave her.


	19. Scars and Tenderness

Sev felt a little betrayed. She had been anticipating taking Frodo home, letting him live a life of peace unmarred by any more stress and pain. But now he had taken her plan to keep him safe and twisted it, dragged the Ring back into his life. She didn't dare confront him about it; she didn't like confrontation, especially not with someone she cared for. So she avoided everyone. Even when she saw Frodo she cowered away, hoping he hadn't seen her.

For two days, Frodo searched all over Rivendell for her. She left the Fellowship right after the Council, and he only caught glimpses of her from time to time. She would scramble away from him as though he held out the Ring to her, or had just threatened her.

Finally Bilbo approached him excitedly and said he had some surprises for him, things he could use in war. Bilbo grabbed his arm and tried to drag him with, but Frodo stood back.

"May I look for Sev first? And bring her along?"

Bilbo nodded. "Yes, yes, my boy! But do hurry!"

Finally Frodo found her on the roof. She stared out into the sunset of Rivendell, the orange and golden light shimmering through her thick bush of hair. The blood in her eyes was thick from internal tension and straining with herself to let Frodo do what he would. Something deep within begged her to protect him the best she could, and the only thing she could think of was throw the Ring into the waterfall, take Frodo as far north as she could go, and let Sauron take what he would. She wrung her hands together. But Frodo wanted to do this. And because he had so much light he could take it.

She didn't want him to.

She didn't want that darkness—the darkness she lived with every day—to torture him the way it did her.

One moment she was thinking about Frodo and the next he slid into place beside her. She fidgeted, not willing to turn and speak to him. She would likely go through with her plan if she even tried to look at him.

Frodo didn't know how to start. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but she probably wouldn't tell him. Even if she did, she would twist the truth to conceal what she didn't want to say and tell him subtle, true things in words. Then he wanted to apologize, but he didn't know on whose behalf he would be apologizing, or for what. Something had happened at the Council. Perhaps her scar?

After a long moment of silence, Frodo finally decided upon what to say. "Bilbo has some things for us."

"Oh?" She didn't look up at him. He glanced at her eyes and noticed the thick blackness within them, wondering what could be upsetting her so much.

He slid closer. Her warmth drew him in, and she hadn't pushed him away yet. Her eyes flickered to him, but didn't stay. "War material. Swords, armor, things like that. He wants you to come."

Sev didn't turn to him, but her voice grew ambivalent and grave. "He'll only have things for you. There was only the one hobbit on all his adventures. I don't know how it would benefit any of us for me to be there."

Bitterness seeped from her voice, and it took Frodo aback. He blinked, surveying her.

"Besides, you're the one who's going to need armor." She sounded like she would have been jocose had she said what she did a few days before, but in these circumstances it was impossible.

Frodo shook his head. "I can take care of myself, Sev." Then he paused. "It will be dangerous. Maybe you should go back to the Shire."

Her gaze shot to him, eyes wide. It surprised him, but at least she looked non-threatening.

"I'm not going back. I promised to protect you, and I am not letting that or you go easily." She reached for his hand, but pulled back when she remembered what would happen if she went too far. But he initially met her halfway and pulled their hands into his lap. "Frodo, this is a dangerous mission. You're the one that volunteered to go, and I'm the friend that volunteered to keep you safe. Swore to keep you safe!"

"I don't want you to get hurt. I've been through enough; you've been through enough. Sev, you'll do much better going home now before anything happens. I have people to protect me."

Sev threw her free hand in the air, and Frodo trapped her other one before she could take it back. "As though they would be beneficial! Frodo, none of them know—," She paused. _Know or love you better than I do._ "Know you better than I do, and probably don't care as much about you as the mission. And none of them have as much reason to curse the Ring as I do." She unfolded her free hand, and Frodo exchanged them, thumbing her scar. "I'm not going home, Frodo, unless you decide to. I think you taking this Ring is madness, but apparently you know you ought to do it." She swallowed, emotion clouding her thoughts. She closed her eyes, and she couldn't speak.

Frodo closed her hand in both of his. "Sev, I know I can't convince you to go home if you don't want to go, but know I won't let you go unprotected either." She glanced up at him, a little chagrined at his need to keep her safe as well. He held the weight of the world around his neck.

"A pact, then," Sev said somewhat darkly as she eyed the Ring. "I come with you, and you don't get into any more trouble than you have so far. Or if you do you let me get you out of it. Deal?"

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "Those are both to your advantage."

"Bother it, then!" Now Frodo could tell Sev was being jocose. She held back a snicker. "I come with you to see Bilbo and to Mordor, and I'll let you do what you will concerning trouble on this journey."

He lifted the other eyebrow.

She sighed. "And I stay out of as much trouble as possible too. Deal, yes?"

Frodo nodded. She grabbed his hand to shake it, but when she finished he lightly kissed her hand. It was more formal than anything, but it still filled him with fizzles of warmth and her with light tingles.

"Deal."

They immediately left to find Bilbo. Once they reached his chambers and knocked, Bilbo opened the door and dragged Frodo inside. He dismissively greeted Sev, but pulled Frodo off to the huge bed and produced a bundle of clanging metal. He gestured to a smaller bundle off to the side, and Sev peered inside. She found an iron sheet of mail, fitted to a female figure. She eyed it carefully; she'd never owned anything fitted. She wondered how on Earth Bilbo could have gotten her measurements. She also found a small, Elvish dagger inside.

Bilbo first produced his sword Sting. Sev turned to watch as Frodo unsheathed the beautiful blade. Frodo stared at it wonderingly. "It's so light," he breathed. The sword curved, expanding at the center before it tapered to the sharp point. An Elvish inscription lined the silver metal.

"Yes," Bilbo said. "The Elves made it, you know. And it glows blue when orcs are near."

Sev made a note of that and sat down to watch.

"Those are the moments, my lad, when you have to be extra careful," Bilbo said darkly. Then he dug back into the bag. "And here's this treasure!" He produced a shirt of shiny, white metal. Sev's eyes glimmered when she saw it, and she sat upright. Frodo gaped at it a little as Bilbo held it out to him. "Mithril. As light as feathers . . . and hard as dragon scales! Come, let me see you put it on."

Sev laid down on the couch she found and turned away, but there was no need. The moment Frodo got a short distance down unbuttoning his shirt, Bilbo gasped. "My old ring!" Frodo's eyes grew anxious as Bilbo studied the Ring.

"I wonder if I might hold it . . . just one more time?"

Frodo eyed his uncle carefully, and Sev sat upright, fingering the Elvish dagger at her side. Frodo closed his shirt over the Ring. Bilbo's face grew dark, and Sev leaped forward even as a savage hiss escaped him. Frodo leaped back, slamming into Sev's shoulder.

Bilbo began to sob, turning slowly away from Frodo. "I'm sorry, my lad! It's my fault you have to carry this burden!" He sank into his chair without turning back to look at them.

Sympathy flooded Frodo, and he stepped forward. He laid a loving hand on Bilbo's shoulder; the older hobbit grasped it desperately, still sobbing somewhat. Sev moved to join them, laid her hand on Bilbo's. Frodo put his arms around them both, holding Sev close to his chest. She did not fight him.

The pain would have been awful alone.

They didn't leave Bilbo until Frodo could feel him dozing, his head resting against Frodo's hand. Sev almost mentioned it to Frodo, but being held like this—she didn't want to say anything. So she stayed, relaxed in Frodo's arms.

Bilbo woke up partially and slipped right into bed, not bothering to get dressed for it or anything. With another free arm Frodo turned slightly, bringing Sev all the way into his arms. He was tired as well, but the warmth coaxed him to stay. His head lay on her shoulder. Sev looped her arms around him, rubbing a little bit.

A few minutes later, she basically dragged him back to bed. She moved to lay him in, but he woke up then. He turned her around and sat her down. She glanced at him, shocked.

"I told you, it's yours," he said, his voice muddled. He sank over her, his eyes flickering with exhaustion.

Sev cackled. "But you're too tired to do anything!" Then her voice grew sincere, concerned. She laid a hand over his on her shoulder, and he sank to the ground, laying his head next to her lap. "And you obviously need sleep. I don't." She looped her arms under his shoulders to bring him to his feet.

He shook his head, waking up again. He strained to stay awake. He felt tired enough to sleep on the floor anyway. All he had to do was convince her to stay in the bed; once he did that he could just slack to sleep.

"Sev." He strained against her efforts. He shook her off, then got up and sat on the bed next to her. "Sev." She paused, and he laid his fingers about her face. She halted immediately, not sure what he was getting at.

"I need you to sleep in the bed," Frodo mumbled. "If I get in again, I'm not going to want to take the Ring. I want you to." He kissed her forehead deeply, and Sev froze. Her fingers tightened around his vest until he pulled away. She slacked, but tensed again when his lips softly brushed her nose. "Please."

Frodo surveyed Sev's surprised expression, her lack of ability to move. She couldn't more than blink at him as heightened affection within her begged to lean forward and let her kiss him. He slipped her fingers from his shoulders and laid a hand against her back. He tenderly pushed on her shoulders until she lay down. He adjusted the blanket, brought it up to her shoulders.

"Thank you, Frodo," she said. _I love you._ "Until tomorrow."

He might have replied, but even as words try to escape him he walked towards the door, possibly to find another bed. He collapsed to the floor just outside the door and fell right asleep.

Then she frowned. "Where will you slee—?" She leaned over the bed and saw Frodo on the floor far away, breathing deeply. She smiled, craning her head to watch him. She stood and approached him, knelt by his side. Sev rubbed his shoulder, traced the hair back from his face. He looked so sweet just then, and the evidence of that characteristic sat in the room behind her.

Sev leaned closer and pecked his soft cheek. The bed, four times the size of a hobbit from one end to the other, allowed her space to slide inside and all the way over to the opposite end from the door. She laid down in the cloud-like pillows and drifted into the most peaceful sleep she'd had in a long time.


	20. Farewell to Rivendell

Lord Elrond's voice rang out grave in the outer court of Rivendell. "The Fellowship of the Ring is setting out on the quest to Mount Doom. None of you are under any obligation to go further than you will."

Apprehension rose in Frodo. He might face the end alone. He doubted Sev would leave him, but he did intend to convince her that it would be too dangerous eventually. He'd rather she abandon him than get hurt. But her obstinacy might call for him to force her to stay behind.

Gandalf stood by the door, and Sev behind him. She was surprised to wake up early and find Gandalf more civil towards her, in fact somewhat pleasant. Apparently the wizard feared for Frodo, but once Sev showed her resilience the day before he trusted her a bit more. He even showed her a map to Mordor, and she memorized the route in case the group split up or someone happened to get lost with Sev.

Gandalf spoke solemnly. "The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer."

Frodo turned, surveying his old friends and new companions. They were all determined to save their world, few of them uncertain what war and death meant. In theory.

Gandalf gestured Frodo to the threshold of Rivendell. Sev joined Frodo as he walked to the door. Two paths lay before him, one leading back home and the other into the unknown, to toil, agony, and possibly death. But one also lead to temporary happiness . . . the other to preserving the world for happiness later.

But Frodo had said he didn't know the way. He turned back to Sev.

"Mordor, Sev." He anticipated she would ask Gandalf if she didn't know. "Is it left or right?"

Sev considered for a moment, and her eyes slipped shut for a glimmer of a moment. "Left," she decided. She laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Frodo's chest swelled with anxiety, and then he pressed forward to the path of the unknown.

He allowed Sev to lead the way as they departed Rivendell, although Sev felt a little apprehensive in front. She didn't like having people behind her, much less leading them. Frodo joined her soon enough. He could see her glancing over her shoulder periodically (actually to ensure the Ring hadn't taken him), and he slipped his fingers into hers. She glanced down, surprised, and he squeezed her hand.

Once they departed Elvish country, the land grew mountainous and rocky. Gandalf took the lead from there, for Sev began to grow weary from apprehension. Frodo pulled her almost to the back of the group, but Aragorn insisted that he and Boromir take up the rear. Sev conceded it would do no good to have the Ringbearer almost unprotected behind everyone else.

As the days passed, Sev could feel the Ring's power growing. The bond of the Fellowship threw it for a loop, however. Frodo could feel the Ring as well; the Ring was torn between its primary two targets. Frodo would take some time to drag away from the light, but Sev had darkness in her very blood. The Ring hungered for her blackness, for another soul it could take so quickly. It didn't even have to work very hard. Frodo and Sev kept the burden off of each other as long as the Ring debated its course of action.

Sev began enjoying evenings with the Fellowship. The courage of Boromir, the grace of Legolas, and the pride of Gimli illuminated her world. She did love the concept of people, even if she couldn't handle them for long. She would kneel by the fire with the Fellowship surrounding her. As always, she recognized the company of Aragorn—his quiet strength—and Gandalf—his endless sarcasm—and the hobbits around her.

Frodo wanted to be with them. But the Ring seemed to distance him from his companions. Soon he stopped joining them for dinner. He lost his appetite a little. But every time Sev would leave the group early, seeking nothing more than Frodo's tender presence. She crouched as she walked over to him, wrapped in his cloak.

She ruffled his hair. "And how are you?" She leaped around him and lay down, facing him. Her eyes were wide. "You didn't eat, Frodo! That's my job."

Frodo smiled a little. "It's nothing, Sev."

Her brow furrowed. She let on less worry than she felt. "But there is an 'it.'" She rubbed his shoulder. "I can't lose you, all right?" She frowned at him. "Just come be more with us tomorrow, and I won't pester about 'it,' all right?"

Frodo's eyes flickered to the ground. He just wanted to feel her warmth, wanted her to help him fight the Ring. But he had to do it alone. It would burn her if she tried anything. Its effects were more physical, more immediate for her.

Sev sat up. "There's no way you're going to fall asleep. Do you want to talk about something for a while?" She bent down. She just wanted to hear him speak, wanted to know he was still himself. "What prank we should launch on Pippin and Merry tomorrow, for example? Gimli has volunteered himself to help."

Frodo snickered, and Sev contained her excitement. He sighed and nodded. "Perhaps. Sev, I am a little tired."

Sev nodded. "Good night; go to sleep." She shoved her hand over his eyes, a little flustered that she had just interrupted his intent to rest. She stood to walk away, but Frodo caught her cloak. She glanced down at him.

"Would you stay with me until I'm gone, though?" he asked. It came out initially, and he feared the Ring had convinced him to say what he did. He paused, but continued. "If I don't get company from anywhere else you might as well stay."

Sev paused, then sat down beside him. He sat up as well, sidling a few inches from her. She inhaled, then exhaled slowly.

"There's no way you're going to fall asleep sitting up like that," Sev said doubtfully.

Frodo sighed. "No, I'm just tired." He turned to her. "I doubt you wish to talk of Pippin and Merry, Sev; what do you truly think? What did you come over here for?"

Sev bit her lip, turning away from him. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell him why she really came over, but if she analyzed hard enough she could pull out an ulterior motive from herself. "I wanted . . . I wanted to make sure you were still you." She glanced up at him. "You're my best friend, Frodo."

That phrase threw him off. He'd been hoping she would say she loved him, but she didn't even go there.

For Sev, however, the two phrases were synonymous, and she feared saying it at all. She swallowed and continued, bravery overthrowing her horror at Frodo's evident surprise.

"This Ring is more than you could imagine," Sev blurted. "It tears people apart."

"Inside and out," Frodo muttered, picking up her hand. She hardly noticed.

"Exactly!" She threw her free hand in the air as he peered at her dark scar, fingering it. "It rubs the wearer down until they've been stretched thin, extending this pleasurable agony over years and years. It drives people mad, destroys wherever it goes. Darkness is its trademark, and I know not of a Ringbearer left unscathed." Frodo continued to rub her scar, wondering if she was addressing herself. It didn't seem like her to do so; she probably was using other people as examples in her own mind. "I just don't want it to hurt you. I've never seen you scarred, and that would hurt." She bit her lip and her eyes closed.

The Ring reached for her, dragged Frodo close to her. He thought it was his own initiative, watching fear claim her eyes as he wanted to kiss her. When he realized coming close to her let the Ring slip out from his shirt, he pulled back sharply. But he still had her hand, and she squawked as she collapsed into his lap. She scrambled back, blushing wildly. Frodo laughed outright, and Sev resisted laughing as well.

"What was that for?!" She nudged him hard. "You devil. Go to bed." She rubbed her spare hand over his head.

Frodo lifted her hand, glancing at the scar. Sev stared at it as well.

"Hey, I have my Ring too," she said. She glanced up at him. "You see my point, then? I don't want one of these on your soul."

Frodo kept her hand, but used one of his own to remove the Ring from his neck. He dropped it in his pocket despite its protests in his head. He brushed his lips to her scar again, then held that hand to his heart.

"I want to prove I have that strength," Frodo said. "I can bear this burden. I can be like you, Sev." _Strong even though you've gone through so much. I can go through that much, too._

Sev sat for a long, quiet moment. Be like her? Her meant . . . it meant darkness, pain, bitterness, nothing Frodo could want. Why did he want to be like her? A collective laugh from the Fellowship trapped both the attention of her and Frodo. The warmth on his chest caused Frodo's exhaustion to multiply, and soon his head slacked against her shoulder. He fell asleep within minutes.

The anti-creature buried a kiss in his soft hair. He breathed deeply in her arms. She embraced him before laying him down in his cloak. Her fingers traced his gentle face, and her gaze grew distant, studying everything Frodo was to her.

"But you don't want to be like me," Sev said gravely. "And I don't want you to either."

They walked uneventfully most of the next day, but finally Pippin stopped in his tracks and insisted they stop for real food. Merry joined him, and soon Sam. Gimli tried to get them moving, but the moment Sam brought up sausage the dwarf joined them. Aragorn and Gandalf tried to halt the insistence, but Boromir pointed out they hadn't eaten since before dawn, and noon had passed some time before. He joined the hobbits, and Legolas with him, although he and the dwarf had their differences. Frodo joined them as well; it shocked Sev.

"We're not going to convince them to move," Frodo murmured to her over the clamor.

She folded her arms. "I'll stop if you promise to eat something."

He nodded hesitantly. He didn't know if he'd have an appetite, but Boromir had a good point; they hadn't eaten for some time, and had been walking all day.

Sev joined them. Gandalf gave her a dark, confused stare. He knew her dislike for hobbit meal extravagance, but then he noted Frodo beaming at her. The Ringbearer felt a stroke of triumph at having convinced Sev.

So they ended up doing so, but they compromised: they walked for an additional thirty minutes before eating. Sev went to start the fire, but a joke came to mind first . . . one she knew would be too dark for Frodo to appreciate, but it was a thought anyway. _Maybe I could just touch the Ring. That would start a fire faster than I could alone._

As soon as she had one going, Sam brought out his pans and seasonings and began cooking. Aragorn didn't want to waste this break, and so directed Merry and Pippin over to teach them swordfighting. Sev sat down with Frodo to watch, glancing back periodically to see if Sam had finished.

Pippin fought with Boromir first. "Watch your feet," Aragorn ordered.

"Nice, Pippin!" Merry said brightly before fighting Boromir.

Sam tapped Sev's shoulder, and she accepted the hot plate of meat from him. She handed it to Frodo, and he actually ate as he watched. Boromir accidentally nicked Merry's hand. The hobbit flinched back. Boromir tried to apologize, but Merry abruptly kicked him. Pippin attacked him from behind, and they threw him to the ground.

"For the Shire!" they shouted, just slightly out of sync. Sev laughed, as did Frodo. Aragorn approached Merry and Pippin, trying to pull them off of Boromir. "All right, that's enough."

Pippin and Merry each grabbed one of Aragorn's legs and threw him onto his back. Sev laughed harder, then turned to the side to settle. Then she heard Gimli and Gandalf.

"We could pass through the Mines of Moria," Gimli said. "My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome."

Sev considered this. The Mines went through the mountains, concealed and faster than the route they were taking.

But then Gandalf spoke. "No, Gimli. I wouldn't take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

Legolas leaped up from his place against one of the large rocks, staring into the distance. He heard something like a light shriek, and he could see a gray streak far away in the sky.

Sev stared up. "Legolas, what is that?" He looked worried enough that it terrified her.

Gimli huffed. "It's just a wisp of cloud!"

Boromir didn't agree, and Legolas finally shouted something once the streak grew close enough for him to see the detail of many components. His warning was one Sev did not recognize, but when Aragorn shouted "Hide!" Sev grabbed Frodo and his pack, threw them under a rock, and cleared the camp with the others as quickly as she could. When everything had been done, Frodo grabbed her and yanked her under the rock with him, pulling her back to his chest fearfully. She swallowed, didn't feel she could breathe.

A murder of a thousand ravens cawed, fluttering over the rocks. Frodo held Sev closer to him, unsure what else he could do. Her

head slipped back against his as her heart thudded inside. The ravens rounded about once before flying back the way they came.


	21. Flooded in Snow, Buried in Stone

The Fellowship unfolded from the mountainside. Frodo sat up behind Sev, putting a hand on her shoulder. Gandalf surveyed the group gravely.

"Spies of Saruman. The road East is being watched. We must take the pass of Caradhras!" He turned to stare up at a nearby mountain peak. He led the group onward; Sev knew not where they were going now. She did not remember seeing Caradhras on the map.

The ground quickly became steep and snowy. After a few hours alone, Frodo's face grew pink, then slightly purple. Sev worried for him, and wondered if she could help. She did not feel the cold much, not enough to be painful. She approached him about it, marching back through the snow towards him.

She shed her cloak and thrust it at him. "Here. You're cold and I'm not; so your argument is invalid."

He stumbled through the snow, and she backed away to let him keep walking. She wanted to help, but he had to take the cloak first. He shook his head. "Sev, you'll freeze. You can't very well get through this—I couldn't possibly take your cloak."

Sev blew a raspberry. Finally she halted, and he stood facing her. She wrapped her cloak around his head; he stumbled back, shocked. She pulled him to her again and removed the cloak from his face, getting right up to him. The warmth dizzied him—his nose began to heat up at her nearness.

"Or I'll rub your face warm. One of the two," she insisted. Frodo paused, inhaling and exhaling steadily. His breath warmed her face, and she knew she would need nothing more. When he didn't respond, knowing only being near her would help, she mused to herself jocosely.

"I suppose I could just hold you until you warmed up."

Frodo leaped on the idea and reached for her. She backed away, uncertain. Sure, she liked him, but she didn't want to get carried away at all.

"Frodo, I was kidding."

"Even if you didn't mean it," he insisted, "it's still the best option you've given me so far." He held out his arm, and she sighed, sliding very cautiously beneath it. She let her own arm around his shoulders to hold them both up. Warmth flooded over Frodo, and he held back a moan as they ascended together.

She soon began stepping in sync with him, and one of his feet began to warm. The other one numbed, drifting behind its match. Frodo stumbled heavily with the weight of his frozen foot, and he slammed into the snow, rolling away from Sev. She turned and reached for him, but he was long gone.

"Frodo!" She dashed down the slope towards him, but Aragorn caught his small form first. Sev approached his side, helping Aragorn lift him to his feet. Then Frodo felt at his neck for the Ring—it wasn't there.

The gazes of all three of them turned slowly through the snow. The Ring glimmered dangerously on the surface of the snowdrifts, and Boromir picked it up gently. He let the snapped chain dangle in his hand. He eyed the Ring.

Sev growled, grabbing her Elvish dagger.

"So strange that we should suffer so much fear and doubt," Boromir murmured, "over such a little thing." He reached up with his finger to touch it, entranced. "Such a little thing . . ."

"Boromir," Aragorn snapped. Boromir blinked suddenly and glanced away from the Ring at Aragorn.

Sev nodded to Frodo, and Boromir moved forward. His steps were hesitant. He extended his arm just as slowly, and Frodo grabbed the Ring from him. He didn't want the Ring hurting anyone else, although it had already seemed to trap Boromir. Sev released her dagger.

"Of course," Boromir said, a chuckle rising to his voice. "I care not." He ruffled Frodo's hair; Sev's growl deepened as Boromir backed away.

Aragorn released his sword and gestured for Frodo and Sev to continue. Frodo reached for Sev, but she held out her hand. He moved to take it—she shook her head.

"The chain," she said. "I can fix it."

Frodo glanced cautiously at the Ring. He didn't want it to touch her, but he handed her the chain anyway. She swallowed, eyeing the little circlet of gold. She carefully kept it away from her flesh, let it rest on her shirt while she twisted one chain link open, inserted it into another, and twisted it back shut. The Ring pulsed against her heart, begging, dragging, pulling. Whispers clouded her head, and she immediately yanked it away. Frodo lowered his head, and she undid the clasp. She looped the chain around his neck, and guilt washed over her. She gave him back his burden, locking the chain around him. Her fingers lingered at his neck; she was hesitant to let him under the pressure once more. She gestured for him to go on ahead.

Aragorn shook his head as Frodo walked away. He smirked a little at Sev. "The hand you could have taken and you took the Ring."

Sev sighed, resisting a bitter laugh. "I've had my arm around him all day. I needed my sanity back." Unfortunately the Ring had done that job all too well. Regardless, she caught up to Frodo to warm him. But although he didn't know it, Frodo warmed her as well: as long as he carried the light she loved so much, she would never want for anything by his side.

But the snow around them soon became blizzard. Aragorn took Sam and Frodo; Sev went up on the top with Legolas, for she could manage it. She insisted Frodo take her cloak, but he refused. Aragorn told her she would freeze.

As she and Legolas walked amongst the high, frozen mountain, the Elf perked up, peering into the storm. "There is a foul voice on the wind," he proclaimed. Sev strained, and soon she could hear it. A crunch sounded above them, and snow plummeted past them in drifts.

"It is the voice of Saruman!" Gandalf shouted.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Sev couldn't tell who responded.

Frodo shivered in Aragorn's grasp. His nose and lips were dark purple, and he dug back into his cloak to keep as warm as possible. He wanted to reach for Sev, but Aragorn likely wouldn't have it. Then suddenly the Ring clutched at him, and he curled into his cloak. It had been growing stronger for the past little while.

Gandalf tried to shout out a countering spell, but Saruman's voice continued to ring out. Finally a lightning bolt cracked out of the sky, snapping against the top of the mountain. Snow and boulders crashed down towards them. Aragorn fell back with Sam, but lost his grip on Frodo. The hobbit collapsed numbly into the snow.

Sev muttered under her breath and urgently leaped forward, slamming herself back against the cliff face with the momentum it took to dig Frodo out of the snow. Then the entire peak of the mountain crashed down over them, piling heavy snow on the entire Fellowship.

Not needing oxygen, Sev might not have been in any hurry to get herself out of the snow save for Frodo. As she attempted to shove her way to the surface, she threw one hand over Frodo's face. His eyes shot wide open at the sudden warmth; his body tried to process the transition, but once he got over the initial shock of actual heat he settled into it. His lips pressed against her palm, and he hoped she didn't notice; he didn't want to move.

Finally Sev broke through the snow's surface, and she shoved Frodo up as quickly as she could. He staggered for breath; most of the Fellowship had already emerged. Gimli shook his beard roughly. Frodo reached down to grab Sev—she'd decided to stay put and rejoice in the suffocation, but he pulled her up. He didn't let go of her wrists, for they warmed him. Sev almost felt resigned to breaking the surface, but she wrapped her arms around him when she saw his slightly pinked nose.

Boromir insisted they get off the mountain. Aragorn wanted to turn back, and Gimli wished to go through the mines. Sev turned away from Frodo while he burrowed into her arms for warmth. She saw Gandalf's dark expression and narrowed her eyebrows.

"Let the Ringbearer decide," Gandalf said finally.

Sev glanced down fearfully at Frodo. Gandalf's decision shocked him, and he glanced up to the wizard. There was a long pause in the cold air.

"Gandalf! This will be the end of the hobbits!" Boromir persisted.

Gandalf set his jaw. "Frodo?"

Frodo nodded assertively, although he felt anything but confident. "We will go through the mines," he finished.

Sev winced, remembering what Gandalf had said. The wizard only looked grave. "So be it," he said finally.

Frodo basically latched onto Sev if nothing more than for warmth until they reached the base of the mountain and turned towards Moria. She appreciated it rather well; it made her feel wanted, needed, but she clung to Frodo just as tightly.

Once Frodo stepped over the brim of the snow and gave Sev a hand down, she expected him to part from her so he could walk faster than she wished to. But he stayed by her side, in fact looped an arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you." He hoped she picked up that he meant it. He thought about what Caradhras would have been like without her, having been in Aragorn's grasp alone at the top of the mountain until the ranger lost his grip.

Sev grinned, ruffling his hair. "I'm here to protect you."

Those words rebounded through his head. She had a similar sound—he couldn't quite describe how . . . the timbre, perhaps—to those words she had spoken in his dream at Rivendell. He leaned in slightly, wishing to kiss her, but something deep within stopped him yet again. Frodo backed away, content just to stand beside her as they entered the dark mountains leading to the Mines of Moria.

"Frodo!" Gandalf called out from the front of the Fellowship. He glanced back at the hobbit. "Come and help an old man." He held out his arm.

Frodo glanced apologetically at Sev, then departed her side for Gandalf. Sev shivered a little. She'd never known Frodo could impact her so much, particularly for temperature. Frodo almost buckled from the sudden chill, one he hadn't felt since being at the peak of Caradhras. He slipped under Gandalf's arm regardless, but it did not warm him a fraction as much as Sev had.

"How's your shoulder?" he asked somewhat casually.

Frodo paused. "Better than it was." He winced; it tingled with chills, and he turned back to glance at Sev immediately. The Ring pulled his gaze away.

 _It wants her more than you do._

Sev cocked her head, wondering what Gandalf wanted. The Ring tugged, and she leaped ahead. Gandalf absentmindedly laid his arm over her. She felt herself drawn to the Ring, although all she wanted was to watch Frodo, make sure he was all right.

"And the Ring?" Gandalf's voice dropped, and he turned Frodo to face him. He allowed Sev to be with the hobbit, and she cautiously crept up to his side. "You can feel it's power growing."

Frodo lurched when the Ring leaped for Sev, physically jolting against his shirt to find her. Sev stood at his side, and her warmth combated the Ring. She could feel it pulling, but then her scar hissed at her.

Gandalf then warned Frodo that not only they felt the power of the Ring: the growing strength of Sauron could, and would, also impact the members of the Fellowship. Gandalf's eyes flickered to Boromir as the warrior passed.

Frodo's eyes grew worried. Sev's shoulder met his own reassuringly, but she had little confidence to offer. "Then whom do I trust?" Frodo turned to Gandalf. He couldn't even trust Sev, he realized, as the Ring might pull her in too. Sev didn't expect him to. Her scar flickered with burning pain, and she realized she wouldn't even trust herself.

And she didn't trust the Ring with having her Frodo either.

"You must trust yourself," Gandalf said, as though replying to Sev's thought. She frowned anxiously, and his gaze flickered to her. He challenged her with a glance, seemingly, and she turned away.

Frodo didn't know if he would do well trusting himself. He settled on the idea that he had no choice; he had vowed never to let Sev trust the Ring, and he had no one else. Even well-meaning Sam might be easily turned.

Then Gimli stepped up behind them and gasped grandly. "The Walls of Moria!"

The wizard, hobbit, and anti-creature followed his gaze to the nearby mountains. The Walls of stone had lines of wear running down them; they wore the forceful blacks and grays of tempered ironwork. A huge waterfall cascaded from a large pillar beside them, and Sev wondered how such grandeur had been attained in the middle of the wilderness so. She stared in awe as the Fellowship moved on before her.

Night drew close, and soon the sky fell into a blue-black. Gimli knocked against the walls of Moria; Sev wondered why until Gimli said that dwarf doors were hidden. Her heart sank just a bit when Gandalf added, "Even masters cannot find them if their secrets are lost."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas muttered.

Sev reached forward to interject something of herself, but then she heard a splash behind her. Frodo's foot slipped off the murky ground and into the water by him; the ripple it sent out haunted him. He felt something, and the Ring pulled at him to keep walking. The pull grew stronger as Sev walked up to him. She had grown numb to the constant tugging and prodding.

"Frodo?"

He glanced up and felt himself reaching for the Ring that wanted her. But he paused, his hand halfway to his chest. He sucked in a breath, then shook his head.

"It's nothing," he said.

Sev cautiously extended a hand, glancing at the water. Frodo accepted it, and the warmth took the Ring's burden from a weight to a pull. It didn't want him; it wanted her. Frodo refused and kept walking by her side, on the opposite side of the water from herself as she intended.

Finally Gandalf halted before one smooth section of Moria's walls. He muttered something about starlight and moonlight . . . then turned back to look at the sky. The dark clouds cleared at his murmured command, and the full moon shone powerfully through to illuminate an engraving on Moria's doors: a smooth arch, shielded by abstract trees. Sev was entranced. Moonlight always did that to her. She loved the light, but could not abide the brightest of it much as she loved it. Moonlight was her sun that she could handle.

She left Frodo to glance up at the doors glowing from the stone. An inscription joined the arch, but Sev did not mind it. She sat on a nearby rock, staring intently. Frodo wondered what intrigued her so, but did not ask when Gandalf began translating the Elvish on the door.

"The Hall of Balin, Lord of Moria. Speak 'friend' and enter."

Merry spoke up brightly. "Well, what do you suppose that means?"

"Why, it's quite simple," said Gandalf, matter-of-fact. Sev thought he sounded a little cocky, but shoved the thought aside—she could never tell with those who presumably knew more about life than she did. "If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open."

As Gandalf thrust the top of his staff to the door and began reciting said password, Sev considered to herself how he knew the password to Moria, and why he would. But she said nothing.

And the doors did not respond. Gandalf tried a second time, ever as confident as before, but again to no avail.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin noted, probably expecting someone to speak with him.

Gandalf muttered, pushing on the engraving and prodding about it.

"What are you going to do, then?" asked Pippin, a little louder than his earlier comment.

Gandalf sounded exasperated. "Knock your head against these doors, Peregrine Took, and if that does not solve this then at least it will keep me from foolish questions!" With that, the entire Fellowship turned to let Gandalf do what he would without interruption.

Legolas, Boromir, and Gimli stood off to the side, talking quietly. Aragorn helped Sam untie Bill, saying the mines were no place for a pony, and that he could find his way home alone. Pippin and Merry took to throwing stones into the nearby lake, but were silenced by Aragorn. "Do not disturb the water," he warned. The ripples spread dangerously into the lake.

Frodo sat beside Sev, watching Gandalf until he noticed where her gaze lingered and stuck. Her wide eyes were fixed on the full moon. It illuminated the whites of her eyes, letting them stand out against her black blood. Frodo paused, then tapped her shoulder. She shook from her dreaming and turned to him questioningly.

He paused, but she waved him on, so he continued with his thoughts. "Sev, was it wise to come to Moria?"

Sev shrugged, turning back to the moon slightly. "I'm not sure. We certainly could not have gone back. I doubt Aragorn would have known where to go. And Boromir wants the Ring too much; we couldn't have taken it through Rohan and Gondor." Then she paused, her eyes narrowed as she remembered what had happened on the road East. "Although, I heard Gandalf talking to Gimli—," She halted. She didn't want to discourage his decision. They could not turn back now.

Frodo's brow furrowed. "Sev?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure Moria was the best way. Gandalf simply said he would take it as a last choice, but in letting you decide I'm sure he couldn't." She rubbed his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure Gandalf would have told you if you should've been concerned." She almost doubted her own words—Gandalf could be remarkably cryptic, but if the wizard had put Frodo into any danger by keeping information from him . . .

Frodo cocked his head at her sudden distant glare. Then a thought struck him when Gandalf discarded his staff and sat down. Frodo spun immediately, staring up at the encryption on Moria's wall.

"It's a riddle!" he exclaimed. Sev glanced up. She shrugged; she didn't entirely think it a riddle, rather simple instructions, but let him think what he would. "'Speak friend . . . and enter!'" He turned back to Gandalf. "What's the Elvish word for friend?"

Gandalf looked a little exasperated, but leaned forward. "Melloch," he said, and Sev's eyebrow shot up (as did her triumphant smirk) when the heavy, foot-thick doors slid open with a grinding creak. The wizard stood and let the Fellowship inside.

Sev stepped up to Frodo. "I knew how to open it," she proclaimed sarcastically. Frodo chuckled, glad at least someone could make light of the situation. She put an arm around his shoulders. "Seriously, though, that was awesome." Her lips came rather close to his ear, and the warmth numbed him from her words. "You should be proud of yourself, Master Baggins."

His face warmed a little. Sev backed away, glancing behind herself one last time at the beautiful moon behind her. She wouldn't see it again for some time, she thought, and she ducked into the black hall of Moria with Frodo Baggins.

Gandalf lit his staff with a glowing jewel while Gimli boasted of Moria. Of course, he turned to Legolas with his pride.

"Soon, Elf, you will experience the hospitality of the dwarves!: roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone! This is the hall of my cousin Balin, and they call it a mine . . . a mine!"

Boromir halted suddenly, surveying the ground with profound worry. "This isn't a mine," he muttered gravely. His eyes sharpened, his brow furrowed. "It's a tomb."

His last word echoed throughout the stone hall, and Sev's gaze shot to the ground. She jolted when she saw the corpses of dwarves at her feet. She jumped back, clinging to Frodo. He grasped her back, and might in other circumstances have been obliged to hold her closer than necessary.

A horrid nausea filled Sev as Gimli howled with mournful rage. Something within her darkest core wanted to drain these dwarves, but it would not give her sustenance. It would taste of nothing but a scavenging greed for the deaths of others . . . the addiction, the lust in her lifestyle beyond rightfully feeding herself. She burrowed into Frodo, growling painfully as she resisted her own desires. He glanced down, then leaped back with her when the Ring began to sear through his shirt and against his skin, fighting to get to her hand over his chest.

"Goblins," Legolas warned. He drew his own arrows, and Aragorn shouted for the Fellowship to get out of the mines. The hobbits backed out slowly, watching themselves. Frodo pulled Sev closer to him. He didn't understand why she of all people would be so afraid, but he felt he could help.

Then a slimy tendril slithered up his leg and tightened there. He inhaled to gasp in shock, but then the tendril grasped him with a death grip and yanked him back—hard. He cried out, and so did Sev when his tight hold dragged her suddenly with him. She grabbed his arm when he tried to let go; she had no idea what had just happened, but one moment she and Frodo were interlocked and the next something flung her away. She skittered through the loose stones, slowing when a significant pile had built up behind her. Her world blackened.

"Sev!" Frodo fought the dragging weight on his leg, scrambling to break free. Pippin, Merry, and Sam leaped forward, and the last of them hacked at the tentacle with his sword. A shriek rose from the water—the creature pulled back. Pippin began to drag Frodo onto shore when eight identical arms exploded from the water, beating back the three other hobbits. It grabbed Frodo with two, waving him through the air. The creature's head emerged from the water, sharp beak opened wide to eat the hobbit in its grasp.

All four hobbits began shouting, three of them for Aragorn and Legolas. Sev dragged herself from the ground and leaped for the beast, unsheathing her sword. She hacked repeatedly at the creature. It shrieked at her angrily, beating her aside while it tried to take Frodo. With protective instinct boiling inside her, Sev fought back hard.

Frodo's world tumbled with shouts, shrieks, clangs, hisses, and blackness. With one tendril wrapped around his arm and the other cutting off circulation in his leg, he couldn't even consider surviving.

"Put . . . him . . . down!" Sev clenched her jaw harder and harder. The creature roared, protesting.

Sev ducked when she heard an arrow leap from its bow behind her. The arrow struck the water creature in the eye, and it finally relaxed its hold long enough for Sev to completely be rid of one leg. Aragorn took care of the other, and Frodo's paradigm collapsed around him while he crashed to the ground. The rocks slammed into his face, but Sev quickly pulled him to his feet. Her warmth overwhelmed everything else, and he blinked—his senses still hadn't entirely returned from being thrashed around by a water creature and then being slammed into the rocks below.

But his pain tingled away at Sev's touch. Her hands fluttered over his face. "Are you all right?" she asked urgently.

Frodo nodded, distant, and she dragged him towards the mouth of Moria. Somehow the elder members of the Fellowship had decided to go back inside, and so all raced back in. The water creature hissed and roared angrily, then launched itself up into the doors behind them. It crashed around as Sev pulled Frodo along faster. Her warmth slowed him a little as he wished to savor it, but he knew they needed to hurry. The walls crumbled quickly behind them.

All halted to watch in dismay as the tunnel mouth collapsed with the strength of the water creature. Sev gripped Frodo's upper arm, and he initially tensed until she let go. She didn't know until he relaxed under her slackened grip, and she winced to herself.

Gandalf's voice pierced the air before the light of his staff. "We now have but one choice." He walked forward slowly. "We must face the long dark of Moria. It is four days' walk to the other side. Be on your guard . . . for there are worse things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

With that cryptic statement, the Fellowship fell into step behind Gandalf into the black, stone halls of Moria.


	22. Fallen

They walked along for what seemed like days. Once the Fellowship all settled amongst the dark rocks to a troubled sleep, Sev realized it had been almost as long as it felt. She sat, watching Frodo like a hawk while the Fellowship rested. She spoke to no one, and Frodo refused to as long as the Ring's power continued within him.

Over the next couple of days, Moria spread from vast, cavernous halls to deep mines with layers of shafts falling beyond sight. Sev shied away from the edge, more afraid of doing something wrong than the heights themselves. Frodo stood between her and the rim of the cliff, and she felt a little better—although his action did perplex her a little. It wasn't necessary, but a kind gesture that she didn't entirely understand. She did understand generosity, but knowing what she did of herself she didn't understand why anyone would want to do anything for her.

Gandalf spoke, breaking the thick silence that had fallen over the Fellowship. "The riches of Moria were not in gold or jewels," he began, "but in mithril."

Frodo paused, and Sev just behind him.

Gandalf cast his light over the vast mines. Sev peered over slightly, fingering the wall to stay away from the edge and to resist grabbing Frodo for support. He looked solid, and she didn't want to think that way.

Then Gandalf continued walking. "Bilbo received a shirt of mithril," he continued.

Gimli gasped. "A kingly gift!"

Frodo really hesitated this time, unsure what to think of the vast wealth he now realized he'd worn since leaving Rivendell. He almost wanted to feel guilty, a little undeserving.

Sev bloomed with pride. She felt Frodo deserved nothing less, volunteering for what he had, stepping into a destiny that should not have fallen upon a simple and humble hobbit. She timidly crept up to him and slipped her fingers over his shoulder, biting her lip.

"Do you have it?" she said under her breath.

He nodded barely.

"On?"

Sev backed away for a moment, but then came right back. Frodo could see curiosity spilling from her eyes. "Would you show me? I never got to see what you look like with it on."

He nodded, a slight smile coming to his face. Sev allowed her steps to slow until the whole of the Fellowship passed by, and she watched him carefully.

When they came to a huge stairway, Sev caught up to Frodo. The latter surveyed the staircase with uncertainty; each stair almost stood to his shoulders, and he decided to climb with hands and feet. Sev remained behind until he'd mounted a stair or two so she could follow without interrupting his footing.

When Pippin slipped behind her, she jolted. Merry scolded him, but Sev didn't think it necessary; she considered the slickness of the stone under her own feet, and grimaced a little at the thought of watching Frodo fall. But he did nothing of the sort, just struggled a slight bit as he mounted the huge stairs.

Before they reached the top, Gandalf's voice echoed back to them through the stone, grave and daunting.

"I have no memory of this place."

Sev didn't understand why such would be an issue until she surveyed the cavern before them with nothing short of dread.

There were three paths they could take, with no sign of distinction between them.

The Fellowship could do nothing but sit and rest. Frodo numbly took to the stone, sitting down far away from the others. The Ring tugged at him, and he went to sit with Sev—she too took to staying away from the Fellowship, and was surprised when Frodo joined her. He sat back with relief as the Ring's weight divided itself between Frodo and Sev; anything to take the pain away helped.

"Did you want to read?" she asked, a little practiced in asking the question. The situation had come up often at home, but now she bit her lip as she realized it was a silly question to ask.

Frodo shook his head. Then he paused; he didn't want to put pressure on her to speak, and he didn't want to put pressure on himself to speak either. All he wanted was the warmth and distraction of her presence, but she might not stand for it well. She assumed most people only approached her for verbal company, but not this time.

"Sev, why don't you tell one? A story, I mean."

Sev's eyebrow arched. She hadn't been expecting that, and wanted badly to understand his motives in asking, if there were any. She analyzed for a moment before she realized she couldn't delve it for herself. So she pressed the issue a little.

"A tale of woe, perhaps?" she mused as she surveyed him. His crystal blue eyes caught her, but she shook herself and moved on. "Or something a little Pippin-ish to cheer you up?"

Frodo paused. He honestly didn't care; he didn't think he would understand the story too well, anyway. He'd never heard her tell one, or seen her write one external of her journal (which had no structure to it, really). "I don't mind. Whatever comes to you."

Sev inhaled slowly, sure if she told her history he wouldn't pick up on it as her own. She'd never told him anything about where she came from, her age, Willation or Sheratan. So she launched into that, first telling of how Willation and Sheratan met, how Alshain came into it, and how they all became a story of their own.

Frodo didn't recognize it at first. He stared into the distance of the dark stone of Moria, waiting for his mind to drift . . . but it didn't. He'd never heard her tell a story, of course; he'd heard her read, but never a tale of her own. Presumably. She told her story with passion, growing and swelling with intense quiet when she reached her own beginning. Bitterness laced her voice.

Soon Frodo recognized some quotes and some terms from her journal as she spoke. He didn't know if he anticipated her telling of when she met him, but somehow he did. Her voice softened. She wouldn't look at him. She altered the story slightly, telling it of Elves instead of hobbits. She described herself vastly differently, and Frodo had supernatural origins as well, although they were more divine in a way. He cocked his head, considering her alteration of reality.

Then came in the Ring. She skimmed that part, but said they managed to hold through. She came close to her ending, and she debated where she wanted to go—did she want to be presumptuous and say her two characters remained together, in fact took their friendship to a new level, or did she want to destroy the one creature of the two of them that probably didn't deserve to continue life?

She chose the latter, and it shocked Frodo when Sev's interpretation of herself as an Elf fell into Mount Doom with the Ring to save the one she loved. Leastwise, that's how Sev closed her story. She almost launched into how Frodo went home and lived an amazingly happy life without her, but then Frodo inhaled sharply. His mind finally wandered when he saw a pale, spidery shape slinking along the rocks hundreds of feet below.

Sev turned, following his gaze. She saw it too, and while he raced to Gandalf's side she let out a low growl. None of the Fellowship heard her, fortunately enough, but it confirmed Frodo's hypothesis that this couldn't be good.

"Gandalf!" he hissed. "There's something down there!"

Gandalf didn't even look up at him. "It is Gollum," he said.

Frodo's eyes widened. "Gollum? He escaped from the dungeons of Barad-dur?"

"Escaped . . ." Gandalf finally turned to him. "Or set free? He's been following us for the past few days now." Sev approached slowly as Gandalf launched into explanation about his life being a tragic story, his evolvement from Smeagol of the River Folk into Gollum—"He hates and loves the Ring much like he hates and loves himself," Gandalf said darkly.

Frodo turned back, and the malice in his eyes surprised Sev. "It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance!"

"Pity?" Sev found herself at last agreeing with Gandalf's words more than she did Frodo's. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Perhaps Gollum deserved to die, but some who die deserve to live and some that live deserve death. Don't be so quick to deal that sort of judgement."

Frodo didn't feel too chagrined, although the exhaustion of recognizing his wrong only coupled with everything else on his mind and heart. "I wish the Ring had never come to me," he admitted finally. His voice strained. "I wish none of this had happened!"

Sev glanced up at Gandalf, poised to intervene. He hesitantly nodded to her, and she crept across the stone to join Frodo. She let her arm fall around his shoulders, and Frodo responded only by growing limp. Sev rubbed his opposite shoulder carefully, not sure if he wanted her there by his side. She could imagine growing too clingy, particularly to him.

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide," Gandalf said reassuringly.

"All one has to decide," Sev picked up—she had heard Gandalf speak this many times, but she did want to put it into her own words—"is what to do with the time given to them." Frodo glanced up at her, not entirely comforted.

Her lips neared his ear, and he froze, not sure if he wanted to lean into her touch or avoid his own growing attraction to her. Subconsciously he chose the former. "And you certainly decided right, Frodo; saving the world like a knight on a quest." She grinned and ruffled his hair, hoping beyond anything that he didn't feel impeded. She wouldn't, had Frodo done it, but she knew if he didn't have an attraction (which she didn't count on him having) it wouldn't do the best things for her.

Frodo hadn't expected her statement, thinking she would again berate him—jocosely or not—for taking the Ring. It hadn't made her happy to start with. But now she told him he had done the right thing. It made him feel a little more settled in his decision, although the tearing in his heart told him it wouldn't be easy.

Sev felt pride swelling within until Gandalf started talking about how Bilbo and Frodo were meant to have the Ring, how destiny had chosen them. She backed away coldly, and Frodo eyed her, unsure what he or Gandalf had done. But she didn't like to consider Frodo as being chosen by fate; Frodo could have refused to take it if he wished, and she left it to his capability as a hobbit rather than fate.

Once Gandalf finished, Sev almost brought up with him how he hadn't thought Frodo the one to take the Ring. But then the wizard let out an exclamation of epiphany. He nodded ahead of him, to the left-most tunnel. "It's that way," he said, nigh beaming at Sev. One of her eyebrows shot up.

"He's remembered!" Merry said excitedly.

Gandalf donned his hat, stepping over to the tunnel. "No, but the air isn't so foul down here." He turned to Frodo, who had followed him. "When in doubt, always follow your nose." He clapped the hobbit's back, then continued down the tunnel rather briskly.

Sev waited for the Fellowship to go ahead of her. She glanced back once more into the darkness behind her, wondering where Gollum might be and if they would ever be rid of him. Gandalf had said something about the creature playing a part—for good or ill—in this course of events, but she did not want to think of it. Just so long as he didn't harm Frodo, she wouldn't mind him at all.

Light began to trickle in through the stones of Moria, and Sev felt a little bit of hope come with it. Perhaps they would make it safely to Mordor, if Gandalf's fears of journeying were epitomized in something so relaxed as Moria seemed to be.

But then Gimli let out a horrified shout. Gandalf turned, his expression growing urgent. "Gimli!"

The dwarf would not listen to him, and he barreled into a huge, wooden door knocked ajar. The rest of the Fellowship followed, grim and expecting the worst. Gimli sobbed, his helmet colliding with a huge, stone sarcophagus before him.

Sev finally stood beside Frodo, and he wondered where she'd wandered off to. He reached out for her hand, but she'd tucked both of hers into the folds of her cloak. He felt he needed some of that warmth about now.

"It is as I feared," Gandalf admitted darkly. He bent over the coffin. Sev's head bowed; the Lord of Moria had been buried long ago.

The wizard handed his staff and hat over to Pippin and lifted a huge, dusty tome from the ground. The skeleton around it tried to come as well, and Gandalf pried it away. Paper and plumes of dust blew from the novel, and Sev stepped back, although not before some got in her eyes. She blinked the sting away as best she could.

"We cannot get out," Gandalf read from the back of the huge volume. "They have taken the bridge. Drums . . . drums . . . everywhere. We cannot get out." His voice lowered: "They are coming."

All gazes shot immediately to Pippin. A loud clang had emerged from the well beside him, and now the sound of a slithering, metal chain followed with a loud echo. Then the metal bucket beside it followed, banging against the stone well as it fell. With every rebound, Pippin winced a little bit deeper.

Gandalf slammed the book before him shut. Pippin stared up at him with hesitant eyes.

"Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your foolishness!" Gandalf snapped, snatching his staff and hat from Pippin. Sev winced at the intensity of his words; she almost wanted to comfort Pippin until she heard drums banging about. She grabbed Frodo's wrist—warmth shot up his arm—and stepped ahead of him. Her sword hissed out of its scabbard as she turned to face the door.

The drums were quickly followed by loud banging and rattling outside. The hobbits huddled together, Sam, Pippin, and Merry standing in front of Sev. She almost insisted that she stand in front, but Frodo kept her back behind him. She glared a little bit, but did not protest beyond that. She almost felt flattered, being protected—Frodo meant it more than he intended to tell her. He knew there was danger on the other side, and he panicked as he realized he should have left her back at Rivendell.

Boromir and Legolas quickly barred the wooden double doors with a series of spears. Gimli leaped up on the stone coffin, grunting and challenging the army to come in. Frodo turned to hide Sev, but she wouldn't have it. He gestured her towards an outcropping in the rock, but she stood obstinately still.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Sev, get out of here."

The banging came louder, and some of the wood splintered open from the force of a heavy spear. Legolas shot an arrow, then two, then three, through the opening in the door. Gimli began to shuffle excitedly, and finally the doors exploded, pieces flying in all directions. A cave troll and a hundred orcs burst through, and the fight began.

The hobbits shouted war cries, rushing into battle. Sev kept quiet, for she feared more than she felt the conviction to fight. She stayed back to back with Frodo, but harmed as little as necessary. Sam became quite handy with his frying pans, abandoning the use of a sword altogether. Pippin and Merry backed Frodo and Sev to the wall, and they quickly scrambled up the side of a ledge on the stone wall. The cave troll turned to pursue them, and separated the four Halflings, with Pippin and Merry to one side.

Sev circled the column with Frodo, making sure to keep Frodo away from the cave troll. She tried to draw it away, but it continued searching for Frodo. Sev took a stab at its wrist, and it roared angrily, throwing her aside like a pebble. She slammed against the wall, and as she collapsed to the ground her blood tried to repair her. Consciousness slipped away easily.

"Sev!" Frodo turned to the cave troll. It grabbed his leg and dragged him down, but Frodo didn't necessarily want to get to the ground that way. He sliced at its arm, and it roared again as it dropped him solidly to the floor. He scrambled to his feet despite the pounding pain all throughout him and stumbled towards Sev.

He shook her limp shoulder, and her eyes flickered. "Sev," he insisted. "Sev!" But he heard the troll again behind him, and he stabbed at its foot. It howled, backing Frodo into a corner. Sev's gaze rolled open, and she could not but watch as the cave troll flicked Frodo's sword away easily.

She strained to her feet and struggled to lift her sword. "Frodo!" She began running. "Frodo!"

The cave troll grabbed a huge spear from the ground and abruptly slammed it into Frodo's side. Blinding pain overwhelmed his body, crunching against his mithril shirt. Frodo groaned; his eyes slacked back as though the troll had stepped on him. He slumped to the ground, motionless.

Sev froze, incapable of movement. The troll quickly fell to the rest of the Fellowship, but all was lost on her. She felt nothing as she raced to his side. Her senses numbed, and everything deep within that could still function begged him to live.

Finally Sev seemed to gain her senses, and she grabbed the spear shaft, yanking hard. The weapon would not budge, seemingly lodged in him. She shuddered at the thought. Her hands scraped along the unwilling wood, leaving inky black streaks over the shaft. "Please live, please live," she blurted, knowing her efforts were useless but unable to do anything else.

Aragorn strained to Frodo's side, then grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over. Frodo gasped for air, awakening almost as soon as breath could come back to him, and Sev's heart leaped.

Sam sighed in relief. "He's alive."

Sev finally pulled the spear away. It slipped easily back through Frodo's shirt, and she glanced at it wonderingly. She traced her finger along the metal point. There were no traces of blood or flesh. Then she noticed her blood had not reacted hugely to Frodo's injury.

"That spear should have skewered a wild boar!" Aragorn said, a little mystified. Frodo stared up at him dizzily, a little unsure.

 _Mithril,_ Sev thought.

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye." Gandalf's eyes glimmered.

Frodo glanced up at the Fellowship around him, and Sev knelt down by his side. Finally it hit him, and he pulled aside the fabric of his collar. Silver metal gleamed in the dim light.

"Mithril." Even Gimli sounded awed. "You are full of surprises, Master hobbit," he added proudly.

Frodo glanced up at him fleetingly, and when he turned to Sev she eyed the mithril intently. He nodded, and she cautiously reached forward. Her fingers traced the silver metal. _It shines like his eyes_ , she thought, flicking her vision between the metal and Frodo's gaze. Frodo and the Elves . . . everything they touched carried a light she could and would never have.

Frodo's face grew warm at her touch, at how she seemed so reverenced in light of the mithril shirt. Her fingers were so close to his own.

"We must be going," Gandalf said urgently. Sev glanced up, and the Fellowship raced away. Aragorn waved her back when she tried to stand, and she nodded—she could have a moment if she needed it, apparently. If Aragorn permitted it, anyone would. She pulled Frodo to his feet, then embraced him soundly. Still a little bruised, it shocked him until he embraced her back. The ache in his side began to subside.

"You're alive!" She tried to sound jocose, but it came out with a crack.

Frodo pulled her tightly to his shoulder. "Yes, Sev," he said numbly. The Ring pulsed madly against his chest, straining to get to her. He quieted the initiative, savoring this rare moment he had.

Sev pulled away before Frodo felt the pain entirely drift to her, and his hands remained about her. She looked at him, a little confused. He pulled her back to him, but she shook her head, not bothering to embrace him back.

"Frodo, we have to keep moving," she said, a dark blush rising to her face. Frodo nodded slowly, and he hesitantly let her go. She grabbed his hand, though, and his bruising continued to drain to her touch. She was far enough away that it didn't entirely depart.

Once she cleared the huge cavern they'd been locked in, she gasped. The ceiling was covered with goblins, spider-like and shielded with armor.

"Run!" She dragged Frodo faster through the stone caverns, dodging columns as she tried to locate the remainder of the Fellowship. Frodo gained strength at her unusual energy and soon dragged her along. The Ring burned against his skin, and he grimaced. Finally he could see the Fellowship ahead of them. Sev began to run faster.

Soon after they joined the Fellowship, however, the goblins began scurrying down the columns from the ceiling to surround them all. The Fellowship circled together once they could go no further. The goblins hissed. Sev surveyed them, a little disgusted; they had distorted features, as though they had once been more than they currently were. Some hissed at her, others sniffed the air for her blood, lowering their weapons. Another reached forward hesitantly, and she hissed back at it. It scurried away.

Sev drew her sword, and Frodo drew Sting. But as soon as the Fellowship had prepared to fight, the goblins began drawing back. Goblin gazes flickered about in fright and anxiety, and they retreated up to the ceiling in swaths. Shrieks rang through the room, followed by abrupt silence when the last of the goblins had vanished.

Gandalf turned slowly and gravely. He'd been expecting this.

"Run!" he shouted. Sev shoved the other hobbits ahead of her and began running. She slipped her sword back into its sheath as she moved, nearly stumbling on the stone. Frodo dragged her up to his level, and they ran side by side as fire pursued them. Sev glanced back fleetingly, and she caught a glimpse of a huge, draconic demon. His steps banged against the stone. He roared at them and spread his wings as he chased them.

Sev's eyes slammed shut. She didn't remember anything about a Moria demon—Balrog, perhaps. She thought about Willation and the things he had told her regarding the mountains, and suddenly realized why Gandalf had wanted to avoid Moria.

 _Curses, why didn't he tell Frodo?_

Sev ran along faster, but slowed when she realized the rest of the Fellowship had fallen behind. She paced madly along the top of the huge, stone staircase nearby until they were close enough. She urgently gestured the Fellowship to keep moving ahead of her, and they raced by. She caught up with Frodo close to the back of the group, knowing no weapons she had would be remotely useful here. She lingered protectively a foot or so behind him as they raced down the huge stairs.

A fiery light illuminated the stairs from far below, and fire pursued them from behind. As the demon approached, his steps shook the entire structure of the mines. Loose stones scattered across the ground. Sev knew bigger chunks would follow, and the stairs would likely collapse altogether with not much time.

Moving as quickly as they did, it took almost no time at all to reach a huge break in the stairs. Legolas did not hesitate for more than a second before leaping nimbly across. He turned and beckoned for the others; Boromir followed quickly, and Gandalf leaped across without hesitation. Aragorn moved to throw the hobbits across, but an arrow snapped against the stone before him. Legolas turned immediately with responsive fire, but Sev didn't look to see where the arrows went.

Aragorn threw Pippin, Merry, and Sam across, one right after the other. He reached for Gimli, but the latter held up a hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" he insisted, leaping across on his own. But he fell short, and began to stumble back into the chasm below. Legolas reached forward, snatching his beard before he could fall. "Not the beard!" Gimli protested.

Aragorn moved to help Sev, but she felt urgent enough to stay behind. She did her best to throw Aragorn across, and it surprised him, but he made it across acceptably easily. Sev turned then to Frodo, but one of those huge boulders Sev had anticipated fell from the ceiling, crunching through the stone staircase behind them. The stairs crumbled, sectioning Frodo and Sev off from the front and back.

Goblin arrows continued over the stairs, and before Sev could go anywhere the stairs before her began to crumble. "Back up, back up!" she shouted, urgency rising in her system. She scrambled back, but Frodo saw it about when she did. He didn't carry the same tension that she did, and the stairs fell from beneath him. His foot slipped over the edge, and Sev bit back an exclamation. She grabbed his wrist and kept inching back. More huge boulders crunched down from the ceiling, finally crashing enough to sway the section of stairs she and Frodo stood on.

They fell forward rather quickly, and Frodo grabbed her arm to keep them both from falling. When the two sets of stairs collided, Sev threw Frodo forward, and Legolas caught him easily. Aragorn grabbed Sev and set her down behind him. They turned and ran even as the huge section of stair she and Frodo had been on crumbled into the chasms of Moria.

"The bridge is near," Gandalf muttered as they left the stairs for flat stone once again. Sev resolved to herself not to let Frodo go across last this time, and she actually sent him across first. He might have turned back to help, but was too terrified by whatever beast followed them to do anything but run. Besides, Sev rather obstinately dragged him to the front of the Fellowship to go across.

Sev tallied in her head as the four hobbits raced across the bridge, and after Frodo had safely made it to the other side she finally noticed how thin and fragile the bridge was. Her gaze shot back to the demon; he had no way to get across, hopefully. Besides, if he wanted the Ring Sev could get Frodo away.

But as the majority of the Fellowship crossed, Gandalf remained at the edge of the bridge. He ushered Sev anxiously ahead, but Sev obstinately stood her ground. Frodo glanced back, realizing she hadn't crossed.

"Gandalf—," she started.

The wizard clamped a hand on her shoulder, every movement jerky and nervous. "Frodo needs you."

Sev turned abruptly to go with Frodo. Settled, Frodo continued up the nearby, thin staircase. Sev approached him quickly, and the Fellowship clumped together on the way up. But everyone turned back to watch while Balrog approached the bridge. Gandalf stood his ground, halfway across the stone walkway.

"Gandalf!" Sev called out.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf soundly ignored her, facing the demon. He began muttering under his breath; all could feel the power coming from Gandalf as he spoke. He held up his staff, and the stone at its tip shone a brilliant white against the demon's dark flame. He challenged it, and the demon angrily came forward with a flaming sword. Gandalf shouted back at it as the flame crashed down on his light. But he threw back, and the sword shattered.

"Go back to the shadow!" he commanded. But Balrog stepped forward. Sev's arm initially raised slightly to guard Frodo, but she knew Gandalf would either take care of it or he wouldn't. Frodo lurched forward to help, but once he hit slightly against Sev he realized he could do nothing. Even if he got down there fast enough, the demon would likely be the end of him.

Balrog roared, flashing a flaming whip before him. He snapped it dangerously through the air, just missing Gandalf.

"You shall not pass!" Gandalf shouted. His voice echoed through the caverns of Moria. He raised his staff high over his head, then cracked it down on the stone. A light drew a line before his feet, between the wizard and the demon.

Despite Gandalf's warning, the demon marched forward, raising his whip to crack it down on Gandalf. But the bridge crumbled right at Gandalf's feet. Balrog roared in defeated anger as he tumbled into the dark chasm below; the endless flame fell with him, leaving Moria dark.

Grim but satisfied, the wizard turned away to join the Fellowship. Frodo settled, feeling quite a bit better. But then Balrog's whip snapped up through the air, just catching Gandalf's ankle with its flickering end. Gandalf grunted in protest, but the demon yanked back. The wizard's staff and sword fell away into the darkness, and he lost his stance. Before he could fall into the chasm, he grappled for a handhold on the edge of the ledge on which he stood. The whip finally released, having done what it needed to do.

Sev leaped forward immediately, as did Frodo. But before he could reach the wizard, Boromir wrapped his arm in an iron grip around Frodo's torso, dragging him back. Frodo tried to scramble away; his pulse rushed, and shocked panic flooded him as he watched the wizard, dangling over the edge. Sev had nearly reached the bridge when she saw Frodo, but she decided to help Gandalf. She leaped forward.

Frodo's cry rang through Moria. "Gandalf!"

Time seemed to slow as Gandalf surveyed Frodo, meeting his gaze coldly. Frodo's heart thudded against Boromir's grip. Sev ran as fast as she could, but she somehow knew she would be too late.

"Fly, you fools," Gandalf hissed. Sev leaped for him, and even as he let go her arm slipped over the side to grab his hand. But he fell beyond her reach, tumbling from her vision into the horrible shadow.

"Noo!" Sev almost thought Frodo's anguished cry had been wrenched from her own voice. Frodo continued to struggle, unable to tear his stinging eyes away from the empty ledge where Gandalf's last moments had been. Boromir yanked him back, shouting for Aragorn and Sev to hurry out. Goblin arrows pierced the stone walls.

Sev leaped up, her heart threatening to crumble. She clenched her jaw to keep emotion back. Before she reached the end of the bridge

a goblin arrow pierced her upper arm; she ignored the pain, determined to break the surface of Moria. As she tore the shaft from her side,

Aragorn hastily scooped her up in his arms and ran after Boromir.


	23. The Woods of Lorien

**So I'm headed to Europe for five weeks, but I will upload lots before I go, and hopefully get back to you in a little bit! :)**

 **Also, a huge, much-deserved thank you to Anjion for reviewing! :D I would also like to thank Aria Breuer for following, and to everyone that's taken the time to read this. It makes us feel special, Precious. ;)**

Although sunlight finally pierced him for the first time in a few days, Frodo felt nothing but empty blackness. He stumbled away from the Fellowship. Something deep within refused to accept that Gandalf was gone, so everything conscious—try as he might to hold the thought back—repeated to him that Gandalf was gone.

Gandalf was gone.

Sev rolled away from Aragorn, ripped apart her sleeve, and quickly bound up the black wound before anyone else in the Fellowship could notice. She left the mountainside, and finally shock overcame her. She turned to find somewhere to be alone . . . and saw Frodo. He huddled to himself, stumbling on some rocks nearby. She surveyed the Fellowship: Legolas looked absolutely distraught, unsure how to take such a death. Boromir held a vengeful Gimli back from reentering Moria. Merry, although in tears himself, consoled a sobbing Pippin. Sam buried his forehead in his hand, hopeless sorrow clouding everything of him. Aragorn cleaned his sword, looking rather grave. Sev might have mistaken him for ambivalent if she didn't know him very well.

She turned to Frodo, although she didn't know if he wanted comfort, or if she could offer it. She'd never seen him so . . . broken before. His steps jolted irregularly, as though something other than his own mind controlled his actions.

"Frodo?" she asked gently, slipping a hand over his shoulder.

The hobbit looked back at her, his bright eyes sinking and full of despair. Tears trickled out of his eyes, and he surveyed her a little blankly. He didn't know what she would do, what she intended to do, what he wanted her to do. Gandalf was gone.

Sev wrapped her arms around him, and finally he could do nothing but let it all out; he exhaled in a relieving, mournful sigh. Her warmth spread over him in calm tugs and pushes somehow. He embraced her back numbly, and his head sank into her shoulder. He remembered nights when fears and sorrows overtook him back when he lived in the Shire . . . mostly whenever he remembered his parents. He gripped her shoulders, remembering how he would cling to Bilbo as though his life depended on it. Sometimes it did feel like his life depended on it, and somehow, in the fire-like warmth of Sev's arms, he felt that same way again.

Sev couldn't say anything. She didn't know what more she could do here save show him someone still cared . . . someone still would watch him. His tears beaded across her hair, his nose buried against her shoulder. His eyes squeezed shut, but everything of him relaxed with a bit of a moan when her fingers tenderly slipped into his curls, rubbing slowly and carefully.

They stood there silently for a moment, but it was not a queer silence. Frodo could only explain it in the sense that he knew she wanted to help. He'd seen the way she dove to save Gandalf. Frodo's eyes squeezed closed, and he tensed, locking her closer initially. Sev couldn't breathe entirely, but she let him at it. She hoped he needed it, for she had nothing more to offer.

Sev heard Aragorn telling the Fellowship to move out. And while Boromir protested, Aragorn countered, saying there would be orcs by nightfall all over the mountains. Sev's brow furrowed, and her arms tightened around Frodo.

"Frodo?" Aragorn called out. Sev turned sharply, and Frodo released her as he looked numbly at Aragorn. "Fro—!" Aragorn hesitated at Sev's growl. Sev glanced back at Frodo, rubbed his shoulder, and left to speak to Aragorn. Frodo shivered. The mountain air claimed him once again, and he wrapped his cloak around himself.

Sev folded her arms and approached Aragorn with hackles raised. Aragorn paused at the intensity in her gaze; perhaps if her blood were not black she would have been no more intimidating than a furry rabbit, but he didn't want to cross it. He gestured to Frodo.

"Seville, he will not live the day out if he stays," he said quietly. "We must get to Loth-Lorien."

Sev inhaled slowly, and her eyes sank closed. She wondered if he would be happier alive, and then she realized only she thought that way . . . only she would rather die where she wanted to be than live by going through more pain. She nodded before opening her eyes, and Aragorn gestured again to Frodo before moving on with the other hobbits. She stepped back over to Frodo and laid a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers probed it, pressing gently.

"We'd better get moving." She pulled her hand from his shoulder and extended it to him. He glanced down, wanting to embrace her again for the soft warmth, but he took her hand regardless. Warmth tingled into him, and he wondered how cathartic it would be to kiss her then; would the pain go away?

But he didn't have the opportunity. Sev felt a little emotional lift when he actually accepted her hand, but she soon let go. They had to hurry across the rocky hills to the forest of Lorien, and she wanted to make sure they were all fine. It also slowed both of them to clasp each other while running, and so she released him for convenience.

Soon after they entered the forest, they slowed to take in the gentle, eerie forest around them. All leaves were green, and the forest wasn't dense enough to restrict light to the ground.

Gimli turned to the hobbits as they walked, jolting to a halt. "Be wary, Halflings! They say there is an enchantress that lives in these woods . . . and any that see her fall under her spell. None ever return."

Sev's brow furrowed. Frodo didn't know what to make of this information, until a sharp, feminine voice slipped into his mind. He blinked from the impact of the voice on his mind. _Greetings, Frodo Baggins of the Shire. You bring a great evil._

He paused to process, but then the voice turned to Sev. A growl built up in her throat.

 _And you, Seville . . ._ The voice trailed off. _You are not from this world. And you do not bear evil; you live it. You breathe it._

The growing fear and malice in the woman's voice caused Sev to emit some odd sound, something caught between a helpless whimper, a sorrowful sigh, and a malicious growl. Frodo turned abruptly.

"Sev?"  
She shook her head. "It's nothing." Then she glanced at him. He looked distanced, troubled. She didn't like that. So much had changed, and she didn't like all of what had hurt him.

"What of you, then?"

Frodo glanced at her, a little confused.

"Don't feel guilty about Gandalf," she blurted, for having analyzed his response to Gandalf's passing it was the deepest conclusion she could come to. "If anything, I should have moved faster. I could have saved him—,"

Frodo stopped walking suddenly. "Guilty? Sev, you did what you could. Why would I feel guilty?"

She licked her lips uncertainly, her eyes flickering about. "So you didn't . . .?" She stopped, glancing around. "So that's not what you were thinking. That's not what's bothering you."

Frodo shook his head just slightly. He didn't feel like talking about it. Sev didn't push the matter further, but after another few minutes of walking she did want to see if she could do anything else.

She reached forward, rather hesitantly for fear she touched him more than he wanted. "You need not trouble yourself over his passing." Her voice dropped, and she sidled closer to him. Her fingers gently entwined with his—this was not the touch of a simple friend, but of a concerned lover. Warmth trickled up Frodo's arm, and he glanced down at their hands. He didn't know why that intrigued him . . . but then her words stopped his train of thought. "We'll see him again," she continued.

Frodo paused. "What are you talking about?"

Sev bit her lip. She knew she couldn't follow what she would say, but Frodo could. Her fingers tapped against the back of his hand, sending shivers of warmth through him. He almost couldn't hear what she next said; memories of his dreams in Rivendell shot through him with stark sense of reality. "When we die," she said. "After this life, when everything is peaceful and we exist forever with those we hold dear." Her voice settled wistfully; she wanted nothing more.

Frodo squeezed her hand. He wondered if she meant the two of them, if she implied that she loved him as she had said. And he had told her back, had told himself as well. But somehow he wanted to understand how she would react, how readily she would accept him. He gathered she had a reason for holding her affections back as she did, how she had wanted to kiss him for so many years and never done it. He decided to let her pace it.

"That sounds wonderful, Sev," he said.

Gimli, in the meantime, had been rambling on the enchantress. Now his voice cut through their conversation rather brashly. "But I won't be caught so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" His statement straggled into a gasp as an arrowtip nearly skewered his nose. Another nearly punctured Frodo; soon Elves bearing such weapons, poised for fire, surrounded the Fellowship completely. Sev laid an arm across Frodo's chest and pushed him back slightly, glaring at the Elves before her. The ones she made eye contact with shuddered, but then hardened, setting their bows closer to her head and neck.

Legolas moved to return fire, but then the captain of the Elves stepped forward. He stared at Gimli with an expression caught between amusement and sarcasm. "The dwarf was so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Gimli humphed, but could do little against such a force of Elves. Sev relaxed when they lowered their arrows. Frodo glanced at her, wondering what about them could set her off so hard. She hastily lowered her arm from protecting him and brushed it off on her cloak. Frodo lifted an eyebrow, almost wondering if Sev held back for fear he wouldn't accept her. That could easily be remedied, but he dismissed the idea.

The Elves of Lorien led the Fellowship to an outpost in the height of the trees. Aragorn and the captain exchanged greetings, as well as Legolas. Gimli finally insisted that they speak in a language all could understand, and that led to a small exchange of hard words. Sev backed away, feeling a sense of black guilt in the presence of all these bright, amazing Elves. Frodo glanced at her.

"Sev?"

She shook her head. "I'm all right," she said, although her statement escaped with a bit of a sigh. She glanced up at him, blinking. "A little awed, is all."

He knelt down at her side, but then the captain's words stopped them both. "You cannot pass through these woods," he said sternly. "You bring evil here." His gaze lingered on Frodo, then turned rather resentfully to Sev. "Great evil."

Sev abruptly stood. Rivendell had been enough; she would not take her own darkness here in Lorien. "Sir, I mean no disrespect, but the evil I bear is of no harm to you. I am here on a quest, granted permission by Lord Elrond of Rivendell, to protect the Ringbearer and fight evil. I have harmed no Elves in my time of existence, and have restrained myself in all other areas that my blood would impede upon." She inhaled and exhaled deeply as the captain surveyed her. "Throw me from your forests if you will, but please permit this company passage through Lorien." She turned to look longingly at Frodo. "Their quest means everything."

Aragorn took the still skeptical captain aside to speak with him. Sev sat down a good distance away from everyone else. Frodo watched her, almost glad he had read her journal. Now he would be confused . . . but knowing what he did couldn't help now. He had nothing to say of it.

But apparently Legolas did. "Your blood, Seville?"

Sev nodded a little bitterly. She held out her hand, and Legolas bent over it. The sharp, inky scent of poison filled him, and he backed away suddenly. It reeked of blackness, and Sev shied from his reaction.

He nodded gravely. "I am sorry." Then he paused. "You are not a hobbit."

She shook her head.

"Then what are you?" He glanced down at her, surveyed her with a horror she had come to loathe, but was forced to accept. "You—you shouldn't be here."

Sev nodded, her eyes sinking closed. "I know."

Legolas knelt down before her and put his hand on her shoulder, although she could feel the queasiness in his fingers as he tried to connect with her. "But we share a quest." He paused. His mouth closed slowly, and he clapped her shoulder before turning away. He suddenly didn't know what to think. He'd felt the presence of a darkness like hers since Rivendell, but the Ring had blocked it out.

Now it was only too obvious. Sev knew she could probably never speak to Legolas on terms of true friendship again.

She didn't even want the comfort of Frodo now. She wanted to be alone, like she'd always been meant to be. She curled up in a ball, turning away from everyone. She concealed herself in a corner.

Frodo watched the exchange between her and Legolas, how her eyes thickened with black blood and her pupils shrank to slits. Something about her—however unconscious—understood the light of the Elves. He stepped close to her, although he could feel a ripple of a growl building up in her lungs, even from such a distance. But he thought he might be able to help.

Although Sev did not want him there, she allowed Frodo to put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed completely, bitterly wondering why Frodo would offer her sympathy in light of this situation. And she felt she did not want it. He needed help, if anyone; she'd always lived like this.

Her gaze turned to him, questioning, hurt, scared, and hoping she could focus on him long enough to let her problems numb for a while. Frodo hesitated. The blood in her eyes looked sinister. It had thinned while she turned away, but now it resembled claws. He pulled back slightly.

"Sev, are you all right?" His voice trembled a little.

Sev felt his fear. She loathed herself for it, for igniting such pain in everything around her. She wanted to shift away from him, to make him stop touching her so he wouldn't feel this hurt. She shook her head.

"Frodo, I would tell you if you could help," she said finally. She despised dishonesty with a passion, but she couldn't tell him the complete truth. At least she didn't need to lie to him. "All you can do now is focus on your task." Her gaze turned to the Ring and flared. Frodo felt the metal shiver, reaching for her shoulder near his hand. But he had tucked the Ring under his mithril shirt.

Sev cocked her head, eyeing the gleam of silver-white beneath Frodo's cloak and shirt. "Frodo, I don't know that you ever showed me the mithril." She backed into her corner and patted the ground beside her until he cautiously joined her. Something about being here in Lorien truly did make her seem darker; Frodo didn't like it at all.

He nodded slowly, but Sev knew something was wrong. She wanted to forget that, and so she gestured for him to proceed. Frodo undid his cloak and she took it. She savored its touch in her hands, although it was not the softest fabric—she knew only that it was a part of Frodo, that it had touched light she could never have for herself.

Frodo's vest came off too, as did the white shirt that had been so worn it now looked almost beige. He wondered at how much they'd all been through . . . how much they had done without Sev's betrayal. He wondered how they would be able to tell if she turned on them. He handed her the last piece, sitting before her in mithril.

Sev had to strain from gawking. The silver mail matched him. The sleeves, ending a little above the elbows, dangled just a little. Along the edges of the mithril shirt, white chain mingled with gold and copper to create some sort of design. Sev reached forward to touch it, then glanced up at Frodo for permission.

He nodded, and she laid her hand flat over his chest, feeling the smooth, warm chain. She faltered a little, biting back a sigh. So much light before her. She had eyes only for the beautiful metal at that moment. She moved over and fingered the ends of the sleeves, peering at them. She curiously moved closer, inspecting the individual rings.

It took Sev's hand being against the mithril for two seconds for Frodo's mind to fizzle heavily. Her warmth spread through the metal and up to his head. Suddenly the hobbit could not conceive her as dangerous anymore, and he hoped his thoughts would not falter again. He came to the realization that he loved her, that she was his best friend, but that difficulty had wrought change upon them a great deal.

Seeing the light in Sev's eyes he'd never seen before, Frodo suddenly flashed back to his dream in Rivendell, such a recurring thing he knew he would never live it down. But his actions were more initial this time. When she seemed about through with her curiosity, Frodo lifted her jaw with his finger to look at him. The movement surprised her, and she almost jolted away.

Caution and a little bit of reality came to Frodo as he cupped her cheek in his hand. He swallowed as he leaned close to her, but all he had the courage and strength to do was pull back and kiss her forehead. A shiver of disappointment overcame him, but he refused to give in; after all, he had decided to let her take control of it.

Sev knelt there, a little confused but rather excited nonetheless. She'd lost all other thought in fingering the mithril, but now she realized just how fortunate she was. She could become a demon in the eyes of all the others around her, but Frodo would stay the same.

This thought, however, also succumbed to realization: Frodo bore the Ring. He could change, most certainly for the worse. He also might find out just what she could do. He knew nothing. He thought he cared about her, but he knew nothing of her.

Frodo lowered his hand. Sev looked a little broken; he didn't understand.

Before he could ask, before he could have assured her that he knew more about her than she'd ever told him, the elf captain announced to the Fellowship that he would take them to the heart of the forest. Sev breathed a sigh of relief, then realized she might be told to go around. As Frodo donned his shirt, vest, and cloak again, she stood and walked towards the captain. He seemed nervous; she could feel it in him. She held up a hand.

"Peace to you, Captain," she said quietly. "Would you like me to go around Lorien or may I accompany them?"

He exhaled slowly. "Aragorn son of Arathorn trusts you." He paused. "With his life. We have decided to permit you passage." He nodded slightly to her and briskly turned to lead the Fellowship onward.

Sev glanced up at Aragorn and thanked him silently. Aragorn clapped her shoulder.

"Why do you trust me?" Sev said doubtfully. Aragorn led her forward.

He hesitated only a moment. "You have shown that you would protect Frodo, and I doubt that means hurting anyone here." He leaned down. "And Arwen Evenstar assured me as well. She knows of your darkness, Seville, but she also knows your heart. I haven't a doubt that Frodo at least feels the same way she does."

Sev abruptly halted, but Aragorn continued. She blinked, frozen in place. She felt as though her brain might short-circuit from internal argumentation. Her eyes flickered from side to side as the Fellowship and a troop of Elvish archers passed by. Her heart. She'd never thought about it that way. She pressed against her heart with her fingers, cocking her head. Wasn't her heart the center of her darkness, though? Didn't dark ambition linger the deepest at her very core?

 _You are coming to us. You guard that who bears wickedness._ The sharp woman's voice carved through Sev's mind.

Sev's eyes shot to the canopy of the trees. _Give him a break._

The voice sounded amused. _You are bold, Halfling. You are coming to us._


	24. Lady Galadriel

At first, Frodo remained by Sam's side, mostly because Sev had disappeared before he could redress. But finally he turned his gaze behind and saw her stumbling about at the back of the group. Night had not yet become morning, and Sev somehow managed to feel lonely and cold for once. Knowing that someone in the world cared about her made being alone harder, and Sev didn't like the feeling. She wanted never to think of anyone again, but she knew why she'd come along. She glanced up at Frodo fleetingly, but when she realized he was watching her she tore her gaze away. Although she hadn't revealed it to him, she hadn't wanted his comfort earlier. She felt guilty for craving it now.

Frodo allowed his steps to slow until she unknowingly caught up to him. He walked at her pace, although she did not register him at her side. He quickly noticed that she was shivering, rubbing her arms as she walked. Even in her cloak she wasn't warm enough. He undid his cloak and held it out to her.

Sev jolted from her train of thought, eyeing the cloak. It melted her heart that he would do such a thing—if she was cold, he had to be frozen. But he looked no worse for the chill of the morning.

"Frodo, I thank you, but I'm sure you're cold too," she pointed out, eyeing the cloak. She wanted to take it; it was a token of care from someone who had no obligation to appreciate her as a person. She bit her lip. She wanted it, and she tightened her fists at her sides.

Frodo wrapped his arm around the front of her shoulders, halting her. She glanced up at him as he lifted the cloak over her head, let it slip past her nose and over her neck. He gently lifted the hair from beneath the second cloak in swathes; he allowed her hair, just as warm as her skin, to linger in his fingers before he let it go and pulled her into his arms. Her warmth overpowered the slight chill in the air.

"No, I'm not cold," he said rather quietly as they walked. She didn't resist him, for he was right: he wasn't cold at all.

Sev didn't want the night to ever end. The Ring didn't have him, and nothing about the moment could go wrong. They actually conversed a little bit during that time, and she enjoyed every second of it. Frodo felt at home, like he hadn't for a long while. He felt himself slipping into the friendship he enjoyed with her—talking about things that probably wouldn't matter in a decade, or even the next morning, but those were the things they enjoyed the most.

Frodo's laughter, Sev noted, was soft in the quiet darkness of Lorien. The trees concealed m0st of the moonlight, and when all light faded Sev burrowed into his side initially, rather frightened. Frodo chuckled, wondering why her fears amused him in an adorable sort of way.

When dawn approached, Sev moved to give him his cloak back. But he did not release her, feeling a little giddy from staying up all night just spending time with her. He did, however, take his cloak from her before gripping her waist with his arm.

The Fellowship halted at a rise overlooking the heart of the forest, a huge clump of trees with light inside.

"The Heart of Elvendom on Earth," the captain breathed. "Home of Celeborn and Galadriel . . . Lady of Light."

Somehow Sev didn't feel entirely stable here. As they neared the woods of Galadriel, Sev's heart grew sickened. Her stomach tightened with nausea, and it seemed her very blood boiled in fear. She pulled into herself, noting Frodo's light and the effect it seemed to have on her. But Frodo kept his arm around her; he noticed when she stopped talking to him, but he didn't know what to do about it.

Once they entered Loth-Lorien, however, everything faded from around him. He stared, drifting away from her side as a familiar blanket of light fell over his heart. He gazed, entranced, at the glowing, wooden architecture of the Elves. Another night had fallen; they walked for a good deal of time. The captain of the Elf archers led the Fellowship up the wooden stairs to the very top of one tree.

The Fellowship lined up before a sleek set of white stairs, flanked by Elf guards. Sev winced, her eyes hurt by the light surrounding her. She growled deep within, despising herself and her own blackness more than anything in that moment. She was so dark she could not take the most peaceful and purifying of light. Perhaps the presence of the Lady Galadriel would finally allow her to exist no more. She wanted to be gone, and maybe if she couldn't have the light she could be cleansed—admittedly synonymous with being destroyed—by it.

Frodo could not but stare, although brightness pained him a little, as the most graceful, glorious Elves he had ever seen joined hands very delicately and descended the stairs with dominating, light steps. Celeborn and Galadriel eyed the Fellowship carefully. Frodo caught the Lady's eyes; he recognized them. He jolted just hard enough that Sev's journal slipped from within his vest, and he barely grabbed it out of the air before it could disturb any part of this moment.

Celeborn immediately inquired after Gandalf, but none of the Fellowship would or could speak of him. Galadriel's piercing, blue eyes surveyed the entire group. Sev cowered under her gaze; her eyes alone froze Sev, ate away at the darkness within. Standing at the back of her group, she fell to one knee, straining not to gasp for air.

"Gandalf did not pass the borders of this land," Galadriel said gravely. "He has fallen into shadow."

But the Lady did not say he had died. Sev paused, wondering what that meant. Legolas stated that he had also fallen to flame; apparently Balrog was well known to the Elves. Galadriel told the Fellowship not to weary themselves over the fate of Gandalf. She said comforting words as she turned to most (including that of recommendation to rest themselves in Lorien), but then she looked at Frodo.

 _Welcome, Frodo of the Shire._ Frodo's jaw dropped slightly as he surveyed the familiar eyes. But then her voice ascended to a sharp hiss. _What secrets do you hide?_

He stilled, holding the journal with tense hands.

Then Lady Galadriel turned to Sev. The latter let her hair cover at least one eye to protect herself. The Lady was very beautiful, Sev decided, but she couldn't look at her for long.

 _Seville of Lavwu._ The voice entered her mind, a little disdainful. Sev met the crystal, pure eyes before her. The light pierced her heart, and she winced—she only hurt herself more. Galadriel's gaze only softened slightly before hardening more. _You would guard him to the death. And you may have to._

Sev had thought she might find peace in Galadriel, but it quickly became obvious that no such thing would come. Her eyes narrowed, partially to block the blinding, painful light from her eyes. _Indeed I may._

Galadriel seemed a little more hurried to get them to rest after that. Frodo felt the Ring pull at him; it couldn't get Sev while she had no way to relax. She avoided Frodo for a while, unsure how to speak to him when she felt he didn't know pain. She knew it was a blind consideration of his perspective. He knew sorrow, but she didn't feel he understood pain like she always had. Here in Lorien Sev's pains were so prevalent she didn't know what to do. She curled up in a ball, far away from the Fellowship, as her bloodstream began to throb with increasing fire and intensity. She bit her lip, curling harder, wishing someone would be there for her.

But she had to be there for Frodo. He was new to pain. He would discover it more, and Sev didn't want to let it happen, even if she knew she would be resigned to every step of the process. Her eyes narrowed in conviction before she slammed them shut with another onslaught of pain. A straggled gasp escaped her, followed by a bit of a groan as pain blinded her.

Frodo didn't feel well either, although to inflict Sev's pain on him might have been the end of his conviction. The Ring wore on him, so distanced from Sev that it had given up on influencing her for the moment; it had full effect on Frodo now. He could feel its weight dragging him down.

The Elves, apparently, were singing a mournful tribute to Gandalf. There was a small discussion among the Fellowship of it before they all settled down. Aragorn spoke to Boromir, and Sev listened for but a moment before the pain of Boromir's hopelessness became too much. She began to tuck into herself . . . until she saw Frodo's eyes wide open. He trembled in place at the power of the Ring, but somehow the Elves' light counteracted it well enough. Regardless, its power grew strong.

Sev knelt gently beside him, and his gaze shot to her. He longed for her warmth, and he sat upright. She shook her head, laying a hand flat on his chest. Frodo's heart lifted as the Ring suddenly directed half of its attention at Sev. She laid Frodo down, then quietly slipped up behind his head in the niche of the tree root where he would sleep. But he did not fall asleep; he felt fine where he was.

"Are you all right?" Sev didn't want to ask, but he just sat there with his eyes open for at least twenty minutes before she was convinced he wouldn't try to sleep.

Frodo bit back a sigh, but said nothing.

"It's the Ring," she said quietly. She itched to drain it, then snapped it back with a sharp, internal berate.

Frodo glanced up at her. He looked pleading enough. He'd never felt this way before, so much pain. Sev stepped down. "You must rest." She chewed her lip a little. "Is there any way I can help? Any way at all?" She felt she would rest better if she knew Frodo was fine, and sleep seemed the only way to keep him away from the hurt for a moment or two.

He didn't know how to respond. He thought things might be easier along the way if he told her everything, but didn't think it would be now. Bilbo had told him to wait. His gaze flickered away as he considered what to tell her, what he wanted to say but couldn't find the moment right to.

Sev cautiously laid a hand on his shoulder, afraid of his lack of response. Frodo turned to her; he hoped she would continue. She did, not entirely understanding his gaze but hoping she guessed right. She'd guessed wrong often enough. Her arm circled his shoulders, and with the Ring's power coupled against the comfort of her arms Frodo slacked into her, consciousness flickering. He was indeed tired, although he feared nightmares would come soon. Sev was taken aback by his sudden drop, how his head sank into her shoulder like anything more required effort he no longer had in him.

"Don't give up now," Sev insisted. She held him close to her with both arms, buried a hand in his hair. Her lips touched his head, stayed there as her eyes closed and she deepened her kiss against him; sincerity overwhelmed every bitterness within. She rubbed his shoulder with her free hand. He began to drift off, warmth flickering through him. The Ring reached for Sev. He strained to keep it back, feeling the empty desire within him to keep it. He had taken off his mithril for the night, and now only fabric and his need to protect Sev kept the Ring from jumping away from him and stealing the blood from her system.

The strain wore him out, and he quickly fell asleep, his head slacking down. Sev sighed, wondering what more she could do to protect him. His dreams faded, and he squirmed against her; flashes of Gandalf falling in Moria, visions of the Ring and how it had burned Sev. In his dream he could feel her lips on his cheek, and he moaned, trying to express with no way to do it. Sev jolted when the noise came.

"Such a sweet little thing," she muttered, although she and Frodo were comparable sizes. She wished, as she had done before, that she were taller and bigger so she could protect him. The Ring slipped out of his shirt, and she frowned at it. "Don't give me that look," she growled, pulling Frodo tighter. "I know where your loyalties lie."

Sev gently laid Frodo down on the ground again, but remained by his side for a moment. Then she had a thought stir within her, and her brow furrowed. If Galadriel had such light, perhaps she would not be so hurt to carry the Ring. Perhaps she could save what was left of Frodo. Sev stood abruptly, and Frodo tossed. She whipped around, but Frodo did not move beyond that.

She faltered watching him, but not for long. She briskly walked across the soft grass of Lorien, up to the white stairs where the Fellowship had ascended to meet Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

Sev clambered quickly up the stairs, shielding her eyes as light pierced her from all sides. She nearly stumbled back when Galadriel appeared suddenly from the bend before her. Sev halted, but Galadriel did not even pause to look at her.

Sev choked past her tied tongue. "Can you take the Ring?" she asked, her voice coarse with fear.

Galadriel swept right past her, and Sev's heart flared. Her conviction set, and she followed the Lady down the stairs to the grassy earth of Lorien.

"It's so hard for him," she continued, lengthening her strides to keep up with Galadriel's graceful steps. "And it's hard enough to watch him carry it every single day, harder still not to be able to do anything about it."

Galadriel nodded somewhat distantly. "But you cannot bear it."

Sev blinked. "Well, it's on a chain now; I'm certain I could carry it."

Frodo jolted awake. Something shivered through him, and the Ring pulled him out of his sleep. He turned to see Sev walking with Galadriel. Soon she turned to walk backwards so she could face the Lady. He stood quietly to follow them.

Galadriel did not sound forceful, but Sev knew it would be foolish to contradict her outright. "No. Frodo is meant to have it."

"What is this about 'meant' to?" she whimpered. Galadriel eyed her curiously. "Gandalf spoke of it, too. Frodo cannot be left alone to do this. My lady, I can help him. What if I was meant to carry it too, hmm? What if I could help him?"

Sev's obstinacy amused Galadriel only slightly. Frodo winced, worried Galadriel might do something. "If Frodo cannot find a way, no one will." She hesitated as her eyes roamed the future. "Although . . . there is one decision that I once thought would be made for certain that you can change."

Sev swallowed, her interest suddenly piqued.

"His end. You could change it, Seville . . . I do not see everything there for the both of you." She continued on, sweeping past the tree where the Fellowship rested. "Your decisions, though, may determine the outcome."

Frodo froze in his tracks. Some epiphany flickered through him as he realized perhaps that was why she felt warm to him, that fate wanted him to feel closer to her than initially would have been, perhaps.

Sev frowned. She'd been hoping Galadriel would remark on Frodo's strength and willingness . . . unless no one could see it. "Even if I weren't involved, I still think he should be given the chance to decide his own fate."

"He made that decision," she replied simply. "He chose to bear the Ring."

Sev gawked, increasing her pace. "He was hardly given an option! He is the only one brave and powerless enough to bear that cursed, shameful Ring, and you say there is nothing on this earth that can change the misery and pain that will befall him because he was corralled into carrying this burden."

Galadriel nodded. Frodo shrugged to himself. He didn't feel corralled as much as he did what Gandalf did: he was meant to carry the Ring.

Sev shook her head. It didn't seem right to her; but then, she loved Frodo more than anything. Galadriel had to be able to help. "There has to be a way."

"Can you heal the heart that has lost its pieces?" The Lady abruptly halted on a sleek, stone staircase. Sev slipped back, nearly falling off with the severity of Galadriel's stop. Frodo slowed behind them as he listened. "Can you understand pain that one carries every day without fail, and adapt that as a lifestyle?"

Frodo waited for Sev to contradict her, to tell her everything Frodo had read in the journal back by his cloak. But Sev didn't want to. She'd been impertinent enough; she bit her tongue, although her eyes pricked, and followed the Elf down the stairs.

Frodo descended the stairs as Sev and Galadriel entered the clearing below. Sev turned, a little shocked that he had followed them. She thought back, wondering if she'd said anything she would have said in front of him. Sev backed away while Galadriel stepped up to a nearby fountain with a silver pitcher in hand.

"Will you look into the mirror?" she asked, turning to Frodo.

He cautiously circled a huge, stone basin that stood in the middle of the clearing. His gaze flickered to Sev. "What will I see?" he asked carefully.

Galadriel's face became darkly playful. "Even the wisest cannot tell," she said. "The mirror shows many things . . ." She allowed her pitcher—which she had filled—to empty inside the central well. "Things that are . . . things that were . . . and some things that have not yet come to pass."

Frodo looked back at Sev, but Galadriel's stony gaze warned her away. She nodded to him, and he stepped up to the basin. The steps up allowed him to stand above the level of the basin and see clearly into the water, but he could see nothing more than himself in the dark reflection. He glanced uncertainly at Galadriel, but she stood perfectly still.

So Frodo glanced back down into the water, assuming something would happen. The water flickered into a vision, showing the Fellowship one member at a time. Frodo's eyes widened. Sev couldn't see very well, but she caught glimpses of Legolas, Sam, and Pippin. Frodo's fingers gripped the sides of the basin when he saw Sev; the mirror chose to show her holding him, kissing the top of his head.

The scene changed all too quickly to show the Shire, sweet and docile. But the image transitioned again, and suddenly the Shire was in flames. Orcs marched about, chasing frightened hobbits through burning buildings and fields. Hobbits were brutally killed, and the survivors were chained together to work for Sauron. The sky and the fields were dark, burned. But the last thing Frodo saw chilled him to the very core: he saw Sev. She looked broken, until a spontaneous moment when something snapped. She fought back with everything she had. Frodo had already looked and he could not tear his gaze away—despite the morbid horror of it all—as they tortured her until she collapsed on the road, no longer alive.

While the Shire burned Frodo trembled and resisted the images before him, but this last thought brought him straining and gasping. Tears came, unbidden, to his eyes. But he could not reside upon sentiment. A new image faded into the mirror: the eye of Sauron himself, completely composed of flame with a single, slit pupil in the center. He began commanding the Ring, and as Frodo bent over the mirror the Ring reached down towards its master, only too thrilled to be reunited with him. Frodo strained, resisted. Finally he grabbed the Ring and threw himself back with it. Sev leaped in the way, already having been irritated by Lorien, although she only slowed his fall when she caught him. They both fell to the ground, but Sev hoped the impact she took helped him.

"I know what it is you saw," Galadriel said, eyeing Frodo darkly. Frodo stood and extended a hand for Sev to stand. "For it is also in my mind."

Sev's eyes flickered between the two of them; she couldn't imagine the terror they both felt. For Frodo it was still rather new, and he stared at Galadriel with nothing more than raw fear and pain. His eyes flickered to Sev, and he gripped her hand hard. Sev flinched, but he didn't notice.

 _It is what shall come to pass if you should fail,_ Galadriel explained gravely. Sev could hear it, and it surprised her when Galadriel's mouth did not move. Perhaps Galadriel was speaking to them both.

Frodo swallowed; he didn't feel he could do this quest. Why leave the world in the hands of someone so untrained and so small? Galadriel was wise and powerful. Perhaps she could take it, but he knew she would be wise enough to know if she should. _If you would have me do it, I will give you the One Ring._ He pulled it from his neck, and it laid, bright and open, in his palm. Sev hissed, releasing Frodo's hand for the pull she had from the Ring. Frodo did not look at her for long as Galadriel's countenance changed.

"You offer it to me freely," she said, her voice lowered almost reverently. But Frodo could hint a trace of greed behind it.

Sev hoped Frodo would hide the Ring, but he stood his ground. He hoped something could change, that Galadriel could do something.

Galadriel's eyes widened, and she stretched out her hand, advancing toward Frodo. Sev growled and kept a hand on her knife—she waited for Frodo to back away. "I admit my heart has greatly desired this," Galadriel murmured, now within inches of Frodo. "Instead of a Dark Lord, _you should have a queen!"_ Suddenly she flared into inverse colors; her dress fluttered, and her hair flew as though powered by a great wind. _"Not dark, but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! All would love me and despair!"_

Frodo did not move, just held the Ring, terrified. He did not feel it wise to try and escape the Lady . . . and to enforce the Ring upon her would be disastrous.

Galadriel staggered back to herself. She gasped and stumbled away from Frodo. "I've passed the test," she breathed. Then she turned away. "I will diminish, and go into the West . . . and remain Galadriel."

In that moment Frodo felt a little alone. Sev stood a good distance away, finally releasing her hold on her dagger. But he felt as though the Ring kept her away, that he couldn't be close to her with the Ring so invading. He thought to ask Galadriel about it, and so he quietly admitted that he did not wish to be alone.

He received a response that hurt him and simmered in Sev. "To be a Ringbearer is to be alone," Galadriel said, her voice growing firm as she glanced at Sev. The latter had reached for Frodo's hand, but now backed away with a pang to her heart. As if to prove her point, Galadriel rolled her hand slightly to reveal a pearl-white, very ornate ring. She said it was the Ring of Adamant. "And I am its keeper."

Frodo glanced at the ground. "I know what I have to do . . ." he said, then glanced back at Sev, his eyes sorrowed. "It's just, I'm afraid to do it."

Sev couldn't take the hurt in his eyes, and she turned away. Galadriel had said she could do nothing, but she determined she would do something. If all Sev could do was change the outcome for Frodo, then so be it. She would choose the lesser of two evils if necessary, but she hoped she could save him.

Galadriel bent down to Frodo encouragingly. "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." Her eyes flickered to Sev. _Or the future of the ones they love._

Sev nodded assertively, nothing short of confused by Galadriel's sudden transition to support from what she had said and done earlier.

Galadriel only gave a quiet moment before she knelt down before Frodo. She cupped his cheek in her hand, then tipped his chin up. "Get some rest, Frodo." She stood gently, bracing a hand against his back to guide him up the stairs. Frodo turned back to Sev, who stood very still.

"Are you coming, Sev?"

Sev nodded. "I simply need to have a word with the Lady Galadriel," she said, trying to still her agitation. A need to protect Frodo flared within her. The Elf turned back to face her and sent Frodo up the stairs alone. He waited at the top for Sev.

Galadriel reentered the clearing, towering over Sev. The anti-creature swallowed, wishing she did not have to avert her eyes so much.

"This Ringbearer is not alone," she insisted. "I don't know if you would believe me, but I know pain. I live pain, Lady Galadriel, and I understand living every day with a power so great and terrible you want to throw yourself into the sea for it." She set her gaze, ignoring the blinding pain as she looked Galadriel in the eyes. Sev thought she sounded cliché, but relished in ranting. "If that is not what Frodo suffers from now, I beg you to tell me that my cause is hopeless."

Galadriel bent down to her and searched her eyes. "You do know pain, Seville," she said, her tone changed. "He will still desire peace." She mused on that for a moment, then laid a hand on Sev's shoulder. "Bring him peace, and he shall be helped."

Sev bowed, finally glad to be released of holding the Lady's eyes. "I thank you, Lady Galadriel." She turned to follow Frodo, but Galadriel held up a hand and halted her.

"But you cannot know the burden of the Ring until you carry it. It is not more intense than your own will be at watching Frodo suffer, but it is different. He is still alone."

Sev pondered that as she reached the base of the stairs. She glanced back at the Lady. No one perfectly knew anyone else's pain. "In that case, we all are," she said, bowing again before she mounted the stairs to join Frodo.

Sev again laid him in his cloak and sat beside him. It made her feel needed, useful, to do this. Frodo turned over to look at her. Her eyes sank closed as she envisioned the future, but Frodo wanted to talk to her a little.

"Sev?" he asked.

She glanced down. It took her aback; his eyes were bright and wide, his brows knit together in pain.

"What is it, Frodo?" she asked gently, nearing him.

Through his muddle of exhaustion, Frodo knew she wouldn't throw him off simply for looking for comfort. He shifted and laid his head on her lap. He breathed a huge sigh as warmth overcame him; he wasn't alone anymore.

But then he remembered what Galadriel said . . . about how Sev couldn't know his pain until she carried the Ring. He had no doubt she would try, but he asked anyway. "You won't carry it, will you?" he mumbled.

Sev sighed, tracing his hair back. He felt so alive under her fingers. She wanted to stay in Lorien if it meant with Frodo, but he had to get rid of the Ring. She settled her hand on his arm and leaned down close. Her lips brushed his pale cheek, and he shivered his tension away, relaxing.

"Only if you need me to." Frodo lifted his face slightly, allowing his cheek to touch her own before he lay back down. He quickly fell into a dreamless, somewhat restless, sleep. Sev propped herself up on the ground with her hands, unsure if she wanted to make him move. She decided she didn't, although the circulation in her legs would be horrible in the morning.

Sev didn't know when she would touch him or see him for the last time. She determined always to be there if she could. Her gaze and form slipped away from Frodo; Galadriel ascended the stairs nearby. Sev's conviction set, and her fingers gripped the tree root she now perched on. She would not let him go.


	25. The Breaking of the Fellowship

Before Frodo awakened the next morning, Sev saw Aragorn tossing. She stepped over to him, her brows creased. He glanced up at her through recently awakened eyes, then shot up to a sitting position.

"We shall leave immediately," he said quietly. Sev wanted to ask him why, but he tore away through the mists—donning his sword—before she could. She turned back to Frodo, perching on the tree root above him to ensure he was safe. She cocked her head, giving him a curious, catlike look. He just looked so sweet. She bit her lip to keep herself sitting down, resisting the urge to reach forward and touch him.

Sam woke up a few minutes later, as Aragorn made preparations with the canoes and Legolas helped him to supply the Fellowship with lembas bread. Sam knelt down beside Frodo; had it been anybody else, Sev might have reached down and bitten him.

"How is he, Sev?" Sam asked reverently. He reached down and held his master's hand.

Sev shook her head. "In trouble, I'm afraid." She swallowed a whimper. "He needs as much help as he can get." She wanted to handle this alone, but Frodo needed a positive influence too. No one would do that better than Sam.

Sam sat back. "I hope we can go home soon, Ms. Sev."

Sev sighed. "Back to Rosie." Her face slipped into a sly grin as she surveyed Sam's dark blush.

"And get Mr. Frodo back to his own," Sam mumbled, sitting back.

Sev folded her arms on the tree root and laid her head on them. "Sam, why don't you court her? She likes you a great deal."

For once Sam did not gawk with surprise. Sev wondered how often he'd pondered going back to Rosie. He sighed very deeply, idly stroking Frodo's hand with his thumb. "She's too good for me, Ms. Sev. She needs someone brave and strong, like Mr. Frodo."

Sev started. "What?"

Sam's eyes widened. "I meant no disrespect, Ms. Sev, but it's the truth!"

"Have you been trying to set up Frodo with Rosie?" Sev's jaw dropped, leaden. Sam hadn't done much, but he had tried to get Frodo to talk to Rosie a little bit. "Sam!"

Sam held up his free hand in defense. "Now, Ms. Sev—." He stopped, and his head bowed. He breathed deeply, shaking his head very slightly. "You probably dislike it as much as I do."

Sev could feel the crack in Sam's voice. She leaped from her tree root and wrapped her arms around Sam, swaying with him a little. "Oh, my dear Samwise." Her sorrowful exclamation almost carried a chuckle with it. "Sam, you are amazing. I've spoken to her, and she does not care for Frodo a portion as much as she does you! And they are on decent terms, I won't deny that, but you are strong and brave too. You've come all this way. How many hobbits in all the Shire could do that?"

Sam seemed doubtful, didn't embrace her back. "I'm not brave enough even to tell her, Ms. Sev."

Sev backed away, laying her hands on Sam's shoulders. He had such a sweet gaze; Sev wondered how Rosie—loving him like she did—had stayed away so long. "My dear Sam. I think only the truly blind are brave enough to admit love in circumstances like yours. Don't you think, though, that once the Ring is destroyed you will have the bravery to withstand anything?" She smiled. "Even Rosie?"

She could see a glimmer of hope in Sam's eyes.

"I just want her to be happy," he said.

Sev clapped his shoulder. "Me too, Sam." Her gaze flickered to Frodo, to the peaceful swell and fall of his chest as he breathed. "Me too."

Legolas came up to them then. "It is time. The Lady Galadriel wishes to bestow gifts on the Fellowship before our departure." He glanced at Frodo, then turned away. Sev was hesitant to awaken him, but she crept forward.

"Frodo?" She reached forward and cupped his soft face in her hands. "Frodo?"

The hobbit's eyes finally flickered open, and he sat up slowly. Sev pulled away before he could acknowledge that she had touched him, but remnants of warmth tingled on his skin.

"It's time to go, Mr. Frodo." Sam stood and offered a hand to Frodo. The latter dizzily accepted Sam's hand. Sam brought him to his feet, then turned away to follow Legolas. Frodo blinked tiredly and yawned; Sev snickered as she gathered his cloak and pack.

"You? Tired? You've been asleep for two whole hours!" She donned his pack and slipped his cloak over his head. Then she ruffled his hair and turned away. Her face turned bright pink as the thought to kiss him good morning came and went like a snap.

Frodo shook his head, still dizzy from lack of rest. "Sev," he said quietly.

She turned back to him.

He held out his hand, then slipped his cloak off. "The mithril."

Sev bent down and retrieved the shirt of mail. Frodo's shirt came off as well, and he blinked dizzily. Sev handed him the mail, but then winced when she saw the huge bruise on his side and the Morgul stab at his shoulder. She turned away; she couldn't look at them. It pained her too much. Sev shook her head, rubbing her fingers together.

"That is the most amazing stuff," she breathed despite the disturbing signs of pain on Frodo. The metal glimmered on his shoulders and torso even in the dim mists of Lorien. "But it doesn't protect everything."

Frodo paused as he buttoned his shirt. "What are you talking about?"

Sev blinked, wishing she hadn't said anything. "The cave troll," she said quietly.

"It doesn't hurt," he said. At least, he was fairly sure it didn't.

"What about when you touch it?" she asked. She bit her lip hard; why didn't she just shut her mouth and turn around?

Frodo shrugged. "I've been too nervous to try." But he figured she would be gentle enough. He stepped over to her, and she resisted the urge to back away. Despite the fact that she didn't leave him, she did recoil a little.

Too late, Frodo realized his nearness to her was a result of the Ring's influence. But he already wanted it enough. He lifted her hand and held it to his side. She lifted an eyebrow. The draining of his bruise was not addictive—she didn't mind it there. Frodo paused. Warmth flooded him, and for once he could feel his wound receding under her hand. He hadn't noticed the ache in his side until her touch took it away. He breathed easier after his grip on her hand slackened.

"Better?" she asked. She sounded a little abrupt; Frodo didn't understand. But he nodded anyway. She simply thought it a little invasive of her to drain his bruise, but he seemed happier for it. She just had to ensure she hadn't made him feel worse. She didn't know what being drained felt like, but she couldn't imagine it felt pleasant, possibly like a pull deep below your skin. She shuddered, hugging her arms to herself.

"Come," she said, turning. Frodo lifted an eyebrow, thoroughly confused, but he donned his cloak and followed her anyway.

When they reached the Fellowship—all lined up neatly before Galadriel—the Lady ushered Frodo aside. Sev took her place in line, and Frodo wondered why she did not join him. Perhaps she did not wish to cross Galadriel.

Lady Galadriel began with Legolas, giving him a bow "worthy of the skill of our woodland king." She gave daggers to Pippin and Merry, and a length of Elven rope to Sam. When she moved to Gimli, she asked, "And what gift would a dwarf ask of the Elves?"

Sev had to withhold a sigh at Gimli's apparently flustered expression, and how he told her she was more beautiful than all the jewels and metals of the mountains. He finally asked her for "one hair from your golden head." Galadriel paused, and Sev leaped forward with her Sting-like knife.

"May I, my lady?" she asked carefully. She realized, the moment she moved to it, that perhaps Galadriel did not wish to grant Gimli's petition.

But Galadriel smiled kindly and knelt before Sev. Sev lifted her dagger, but Galadriel cut her off. "Cut three," she murmured.

Sev nodded, taking three of the silky hairs to the edge of her knife, close to Galadriel's scalp. The perfect, wavy pieces came clean into Sev's fingers. Galadriel stood and produced a small, wooden box from her side. Sev reverently lowered the hairs into the box and presented it to Galadriel. She nodded, and Sev stepped far away from the Fellowship as Galadriel bestowed upon Gimli his gift. He eyed it, awestruck. He clicked open the box, possessively staring at the hairs within.

Galadriel told Aragorn—as the Fellowship scattered and shuffled about to finish preparations—that she could not give him anything greater than Arwen's pendant. She turned, after speaking with him for a moment, to Sev and Frodo.

"Farewell, Frodo Baggins," she said somewhat wistfully. Sev felt a pang of sympathy; anyone that had to say goodbye to Frodo had her condolences, but she felt Galadriel had made a special connection with Frodo as a Ringbearer. Frodo felt he would miss the Enchantress as well, but he had a duty to perform. He bowed to her lightly until she tipped his chin up to look at her. She extended to him a beautiful glass vial filled with a clear liquid. "I give you the Light of Earendil, our most beloved star." Frodo extended a hand, accepting it solemnly. Galadriel bent forward and placed a light kiss on the top of his head; being used to Sev's kisses, this struck him as cold and almost nonexistent. "May it be a light for you in dark places when all other lights are gone out."

Frodo paused, flicking his gaze to Sev. "All of them." He breathed the words; perhaps Sev did not count as a light . . . but she certainly did to him. A fire, warm and living, something he could be beside and feel.

Galadriel nodded, then turned his face back to look at her. "Fear not, little one," she said gently. "This task was appointed to you."

The Enchantress wistfully traced Frodo's jaw, then turned to Sev. She glanced at Frodo, almost warning him to back away. "And for you, Lifeblood of Malice."

Frodo paused, a little confused, but asked nothing.

Sev winced at the translation of her name, but stood her ground. The Elves were only telling the truth she'd always known. They felt her blackness more than she did. Galadriel dismissed Sev's reaction and held out a long, sinister knife. The blade had a cruel air to it, and it breathed threats to Sev. She recoiled a little, but knew under courtesy not to show too much distaste for the weapon. It had a black sheath patterned in the language of Mordor, branded with a dark red. The hilt bore a dark blue jewel at its tip. It looked like the color of her eyes.

"The Assassin's Blade of Sauron." Galadriel held it to Sev, and she accepted it with hesitancy. "Thrown, it will never miss its mark." Sev unsheathed the blade, anxiously anticipating and dreading every moment with the dagger. She could feel Sauron seeking her darkness; her blood probed the knife, searching for sustenance. The blade looked forged in mithril.

"The Elves modified the blade," Galadriel said, "for it was once too dark to be within our borders. It is now mithril, coated with the original poisons, destructive to all." Sev's eyes flickered up, but Galadriel's gaze held little to no spite. In fact, she bestowed a kiss on Sev's head as well. "Guard him well," Galadriel whispered. "You have my blessing, dark one. Perhaps you can use what we deem a danger to protect the one you love."

Sev's eyes widened, and then she bowed. "Thank you, my lady. Although, why encourage my blackness?"

"Because it is your duty to fight the darkness within," Galadriel said. "You will never be rid of yourself, but use what you can to the good of those around you and you may one day find happiness."

Sev bowed, more deeply this time, and tied the Assassin's Blade to her belt along with all of her other weapons—the Elvish dagger from Bilbo and her sword. She joined Frodo.

He did not look confused, and that frightened her. Frodo understood most of their conversation, and did not fear the Blade at Sev's side. They turned together towards the canoes; all was silent.

Aragorn already sat within one ship, and he gestured for Frodo and Sev to join him. He gave Frodo a hand in first—as Sev remained behind him—and Frodo gave her a hand in. Merry reached over and jolted their canoe so that Sev fell into Frodo's arms, only standing solidly on one foot. She scrambled back and sat down, apologizing under her breath.

Frodo sat down behind her, falling relaxed to her warmth. Aragorn shot Merry a stern look, but Merry just grinned back at him.

The waters were smooth, and Sev enjoyed every second of it . . . until she felt the dagger at her side and flinched. Despite Sev's strained gratitude at Galadriel's generosity, she could feel darkness stirring within. She didn't understand why Galadriel did not give her a gift of light.

But then Willation's voice, pure and wise, spoke from deep within her core.

 _Because you already have a gift of light, sitting right behind you. You wouldn't trade him for anything._

Sev's eyes slipped closed. _Willation, I'm losing him. Please help._ Oh, how she had longed to hear Willation's voice. _Please._

 _Hang on. Hang on to him. Don't let him go, and even if he lets you go, you still have a hand on him._

Frodo noticed her tensing and relaxing. He reached forward, but the Ring's sudden thud against his chest caused him to pull back. A course of pain spread through him with such slowness and numbing sting he didn't entirely realize what it was until it had nigh reached his fingertips. It left an ache in its wake . . . as though his very skin were being stretched. He bit back a moan and settled. The Ring numbed him from his surroundings, caressing his brain with a cold, dangerous gentility. He shivered when Sev's warmth left. He frowned, and his eyes opened. Suddenly the night air reigned, and they had already docked their boats against a rocky shore.

Sev stood on the rocks, having remembered little of the remainder of their travel that day. She laid out her cloak, then turned back for Frodo. He looked a little empty. She held out a hand to him.

At first Frodo didn't think to take it, but when his hand slipped subconsciously into her own, the pain of the Ring shrank away. He tightened his grip, and she stiffened. It hurt a little, but she didn't tell him. Having him conscious paid it back, she rationalized. She squeezed his hand, then lifted him out of the ship. He put his free hand on her shoulder. His head hung from the sudden absence of agony, and he breathed slowly.

"Frodo?"

He shook his head, not looking up. Although marred, the Ring refused to back down. It dropped like a small stone around his neck—the weight sank a little into his skin.

Sev ruffled his hair. He subconsciously pulled her hand from his head and laid it over his chest, pressed gently. The Ring suddenly grew torn, breaking its weight on Frodo. Sev tenderly reached up and kissed his cheek. Her lips were as light as a feather, but the sudden flood of warmth pulled Frodo closer and—obstinate as she was—her kiss deepened against him. It surprised her, and she broke it off sooner than he wished.

"Good night, Frodo," she sighed, tracing his hair back. He finally looked up at her. He still had her hand locked over his chest. "Get some sleep."

He nodded numbly, and he walked away from her. He sat down, his cloak bunched around him, close to the shore. Sev settled down some yards away in the cover of a bush.

Frodo saw Gollum floating on a log down the river. The Ring lurched, but Frodo kept it quiet. The pain wore away at him. Sev had certainly helped, but now the Ring decided not to be divided unless so immediately tempted. Frodo sat, aching, while Aragorn discussed plans with Boromir. He heard Galadriel's words over and over in his head: "To bear a Ring of power is to be alone." He felt it now, certainly. Frodo didn't snap out of his muddle until he heard Sam behind him.

"What's wrong, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo jolted at Sam's voice; Sev perked her ears, but lay turned away from the other hobbits. "Nothing, Sam."

Sev's eyes clenched closed. Nothing, indeed. He'd been saying that same thing since Rivendell; it couldn't be true. She shook her head. She truly was losing him; how did she just stay hanging on if she could do something more?

Sam sounded matter-of-fact now. "Now, Mr. Frodo. You haven't gotten much sleep, and I haven't seen you eating, either." He knelt down at his master's side. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

Frodo didn't respond. He didn't know what to say—Galadriel's voice continued through his head.

"To bear a Ring of power is to be alone."

"Please, Mr. Frodo." Sam cut through Galadriel again. "I just want to help."

Sev strained for the response. Frodo turned numbly to Sam. "You can't help me, Sam." Sev's heart shattered. "Not this time."

Frodo turned away from Sam. He couldn't abide the pained look his friend gave him, but he couldn't allow Sam to be taken by the Ring either. It was too dangerous; Frodo felt, however, that he was only beginning to understand what Galadriel had said. Sam stepped away with pain lining everything of him. He wished Frodo a good night's rest.

Sev bit back a sob. Frodo barely caught the choking sound, and he turned.

"Sev?"

She stiffened. "You don't need help?"

Frodo sighed. "It's not that, Sev. He can't help me."

Sev turned over, her brow furrowed in frustration. "You would deny your closest friend the ability to help, Frodo? Maybe you need him to be there for you." She bit her lip, and her eyes closed.

"Sev, he can't." Frodo patted the ground beside him when Sev's eyes flickered open again. Her gaze perked up, and she slinked over to his side. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. "You heard Galadriel," he said. Relief washed over him as the Ring pulled at Sev a little bit. She would have felt pride in helping Frodo carry his burden if she knew the burning in her palm helped him psychologically, but she didn't . . . and so it did nothing but hurt worse.

"And I heard you," he said.

Sev lifted an eyebrow and turned to him. Now Frodo had an outlet by which he could ask about her journal. "You said you knew pain, Sev." He pulled her closer to him, laid his cloak about her shoulders. He lowered her head to his shoulder. "Tell me."

Sev didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to be a burden, although ranting to someone other than her journal would be nice. She waited for him to speak, but when he didn't she took a deep breath and plunged right in.

"Fighting for something you don't entirely understand . . . that needs to be done but somehow doesn't really add up to the pain it causes you. Something that is mandatory, a duty you have that you can't uphold because you don't believe in it. All right, so you believe in it, but not its benefits. It's the initial action, not what you want deep down." She paused. "But then, you don't want anything deep down."

Frodo remained quiet. It sounded somewhat accurate, but definitely magnified if it did linger on the lines of what he felt. Sev hoped he was falling asleep; his head lay against her own. She continued, hoping it would bore him to sleep. She'd never ranted to him before, really, about anything but a book character with no intelligence.

"Every day hacks away at your heart because where you are going will save all but yourself. You do not live for you at all, only for those around you." She had tried to empathize, but then realized she didn't entirely understand Frodo's pain. "You don't see what's worth fighting for because everything you can feel fights you, and all you live with is agony. No one understands; no one gets it! Leastwise, not like they think they do. Everyone around you insists, 'I know the pain. I can help. Just keep going; you can make it.' And you take what you can get from them, but really, no one suffers so much. No one wants every day to end just so the next one can end too."

Sev halted abruptly, and her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped a little. Frodo found it a little shocking to hear quotes he remembered from her journal, said aloud in the bitter pain of her actual voice. "Frodo, I'm sorry . . ."

Frodo shook his head. "You do understand pain, don't you?"

Sev cackled. "What, do I look like I would lie to you?" She stared up innocently at him.

He leaned forward to kiss her, needing the catharsis, but she didn't notice and turned away too soon. His lips touched her forehead and deepened. He did not pull back when he realized she'd looked away.

"Perhaps you would," he murmured, pulling her leg a little bit. The sincerity of how much he wanted her had to accompany something else. She laughed, and he chuckled with her. Frodo swayed in place, locking her beneath his arm.

He only sat there for a few minutes before Sev decided he needed some sleep. She didn't say anything for a while, but then she glanced up at him. Her nose touched his, and they both jerked back.

"Sorry," she muttered. Then she stood, wrapping him in his cloak. He lay down submissively. "Just imagine you're back in an Elvish bed," she said, sinking into her own description (now that she knew what a bed actually felt like) "with a soft mattress and a hundred lovely feather pillows."

Frodo chuckled. "Good night, Sev."

Sev fingered his hair, letting it fall behind his ear, before she stepped over him and lay down in her own cloak.

"Sev?"

"Hmm?" The rest of the Fellowship slowly dwindled to rest, and the night settled like a quiet blanket on the shore.

Frodo turned over to face Sev. She didn't look at him. "Did you ever give up on life?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her for some reason.

Sev smiled weakly, her eyes closed. "A thousand times."

She wanted to continue, and Frodo could sense it, but he did not push it. He fidgeted, tossing for a few minutes before he finally settled. Once Sev thought he was asleep, her whisper pierced the night air. Frodo picked it up despite her efforts.

"Until I met you."

 _I love you_ was all he heard.

Frodo rested rather well that night, but dreamed nothing. When he awakened, however, the burden of the Ring reigned powerfully. They ate breakfast quickly, set off right away. Sev watched him carefully, allowed him to do what he would. Mostly he just kept close to her, somewhat oblivious to her hurt at the Ring's presence. She would rub her scar often, wondering why it itched and burned so much.

Sev stared up in awe at the carvings of great kings in the mountainsides on either hand. They sailed right past them; a waterfall some distance ahead of where they landed stopped their progress. Aragorn told Sev they would cross to the other shore, and she wondered why they hadn't just gone there first.

Before Frodo even disembarked, Sev disappeared into the woods, searching for firewood. Apparently they needed it, and although Boromir had gone to find some more substantial wood for the Fellowship, Sev just wanted to keep Frodo warm. She could build a separate one if necessary. She pulled out her Elvish knife and sword to cut branches, although she didn't get anything huge.

Frodo couldn't find her, but had seen her walk off into the woods. He followed. The Ring pulled him this way and that, also seeming confused about where she had gone. Frodo stumbled about with the blinding pain.

The Ring didn't lead him to Sev; it led him to Boromir.

"None of us should be wandering alone," the warrior said casually. He stacked a few more dead branches in his hands. "Least of all you, Frodo."

Frodo just eyed him carefully. The Ring settled, but then pulled harshly to the left. Frodo turned to follow it.

"I know why you seek solitude," Boromir persisted, following him. Despite Frodo's protests that he was simply looking for Sev, Boromir stuck on the idea that Frodo did not have to carry the burden of the Ring, that it could be used against the enemy.

Sev heard them as she cut, and came down from the direction where the Ring had felt her. It tugged harder at Frodo; Sev was physically vulnerable. Her closeness to the Ring all day had left her scar exposed and ready to drain.

"What you say would seem wisdom but for the warning in my heart," Frodo protested. Sev crouched, watching carefully. _Boromir had better not touch him_ , she growled to herself.

Boromir trembled, his grip tightening on the sticks in his hand. "I only ask for the strength to save my people!" He threw his burden to the ground. "Give me the Ring, Frodo," he demanded.

Frodo backed away, and Sev stood abruptly. "You are not yourself," Frodo said, trying to ward off the warrior.

"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir said. But to Frodo he felt the Ring speaking in unison with the man before him. "He will take it. He will find you, and take the Ring! And you will beg for death before the end!"

Sev hissed loudly, and the Assassin's Blade emerged from her side. Frodo looked up suddenly.

"Sev!"

"That Ring should be mine!" Boromir shouted, leaping onto Frodo. Frodo raced away, but Boromir was faster, tackling him easily to the ground. Frodo struggled as Boromir demanded he give him the Ring.

"Boromir, let him go!" Sev threw her knife, not wanting to harm Boromir, just surprise him. The knife whizzed right past his ear—thudding into a tree—, and he spun, shocked. Sev tackled Boromir off of Frodo, but the soldier easily threw her back. She slammed into the ground, and all her breath left her. She straggled for air, writhing uncontrollably in place.

Frodo slipped the Ring over his finger. Boromir stared, trying to find the hobbit. Frodo smacked him in the face for good measure and leaped away; he didn't dare look back.

Boromir turned this way and that madly. "You would take the Ring to Sauron?!" His voice echoed through the woods. "You'll destroy us all! Curse you! Curse you, and all the other halflings—!"

"Boromir!" Sev wheezed. She watched as the tree her knife had stabbed into began to decay, crackling as the entire tree turned black and began to crumble at the trunk. Sev strained to her feet and grabbed Boromir's shoulders, throwing him aside as the majority of the tree crashed down where he would have been.

Boromir continued on his anger for only another moment, shaking Sev by the shoulders until she gasped from the ache and pain. Boromir halted.

"Sev, what have I done?" he breathed. He turned this way and that. "Frodo!"

Sev grabbed Boromir's arm. "Boromir, I'll go find him." She swallowed, having just barely gotten her breath back. She retrieved her dagger, eyeing the tree with pain in her heart. It would take some time, but she could locate Frodo. The Ring pulled to her. If she followed it long enough it might consider her a potential victim. She pursued the pull through the woods, straining and limping as she went.

Boromir's call echoed behind Frodo. He turned to make sure the warrior wasn't following him, then mounted a set of stone stairs. He crouched against one of the stones; he could feel more than one enemy straining to find him.

His eyes widened as his vision crossed Mordor, then fell to the foot of Barad-dur. The Ring took him up to the Eye of Sauron. Sauron hissed with a flaming crackle. "You cannot hide." His voice shook the earth.

Frodo retreated, yanking the Ring from his finger. He stepped back too far, however, and he fell over the side, slapping against the stony ground. Frodo strained to his feet and shoved the Ring back into his pocket.

"Frodo?"

The hobbit jolted, whipping around to face Aragorn.

"Are you all right?"

Frodo breathed hard. "Boromir tried to take the Ring."

Aragorn's brow creased, and he stepped forward.

"Get away." Frodo recoiled, ready to run. The Ring was strong; perhaps it would sway the loyalty of any in the Fellowship.

"Frodo," Aragorn persisted. Frodo halted. "I've sworn to protect you."

Frodo shook his head. "Can you protect me from yourself?" As Aragorn approached, Frodo remembered Galadriel . . . felt Sev by his side. He turned, but she was not there. He looked back at Aragorn—he held out the Ring. "Would you destroy it?"

Aragorn glanced down at the Ring. The little circlet of metal called to him, tempted him, offered him power. Aragorn knelt down before Frodo. Frodo wanted to run away, but something within, something that said the Ring should not be used for good, stopped him. Aragorn folded Frodo's fingers over the Ring and clasped them in both hands.

"I would have followed you to the very fires of Mordor," Aragorn said solemnly, staring into Frodo's eyes.

Frodo nodded wistfully. "Look after the others—especially Sam," Frodo said. "He won't understand." Then he paused, and pain pricked at his heart. "Sev . . ."

"Will be heartbroken," Aragorn finished. Frodo's eyes slipped closed. He didn't want to have to leave her, but it would be too dangerous. Despite the courage of any in the Fellowship, the adventure would destroy them. Frodo would rather sacrifice himself than all of them.

Aragorn gave him a silent moment, but then scrambled back fearfully. Frodo glanced down at Sting; he slipped the blade out only an inch or two. The metal shone blue.

"Run, Frodo," Aragorn insisted. Sev perked; she could hear him, and she followed the voice. She could see the ruins up ahead. "Run!"

Frodo took off, racing through the forest. He only hoped the Fellowship would be all right, if this truly was a full-scale attack. Sev watched him run away. She wanted to help Aragorn, but Frodo took priority. She sprang after him.

Sev quickly lost him. Soon the whole forest was alive with chaos. Legolas and Gimli fought their own battle; Sev ran after Frodo, and soon she could hear orcs behind her, approaching him fast. She drew her sword to defend him.

Frodo saw Pippin and Merry nearby. Merry gestured for him to join them, but Frodo's gaze flicked back to the orcs . . . then apologetically to Pippin and Merry.

Merry frowned, realization dawning on him.

"He's leaving," he breathed.

Sev heard nothing until Merry leaped up from his hiding place and began yelling. "Hey! We're over here! Over here!" The orcs suddenly changed their course, distracted from Frodo. Sev wanted to call out to them, to save them, but she could only do so much. When she turned around, Frodo had already vanished.

She raced after him, hissing his name, until she smacked into Sam. They both took off after Frodo, leaping almost in two different directions.

Sev turned abruptly when she heard Pippin and Merry yelling again. Sam slowed ahead of her.

"Come on, Ms. Sev!" Sam insisted.

Sev gasped. "Boromir!" Her cry rang out through the woods, but with the two halflings near them, the orcs did not seem to care. Boromir had three arrows protruding from his torso, but continued fighting. She turned to help . . . and Sam was already ten steps ahead of her.

"Sam, no!" She ran after him, but he waved her off.

"Find Mr. Frodo!" he shouted back as orcs swarmed him. "Keep him safe!"

Before the orcs could turn to see her, Sev tore away, heart wrenched. She had lost all but one.

At least that one was the one that mattered the most to her.

Frodo stood at the banks of the river soundlessly. Waves lapped, motioning him forward. Sorrow overwhelmed him, as did the dynamic of his task. The Ring—and the world's life or death—lay in his hands, open, inviting, and terrifying.

Tears trickled down his face. Pain and hopelessness flowed with his blood.

 _"_ _I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened!"_

As though Gandalf were actually there, his voice cut through the air. Frodo's eyes widened, and his breath quickened. _"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide,"_ Gandalf said gently. Frodo could even see him.

Sev's voice finally broke it all. Frodo's eyes slipped closed as he felt her warm arm around his shoulders. _"All one has to decide is what to do with the time given to them."_ _Her hand flickered through his hair. "And you certainly decided right, Frodo; saving the world like a knight on a quest."_

Frodo realized if he didn't survive this he would never touch her again. If she didn't—he stopped himself before he could worry further. Conviction set, Frodo's eyes opened and his gaze darkened. He clamped his fingers over the Ring. Resisting further tears, he threw it into his breast pocket and walked briskly to the canoe right ahead of him. He leaped inside and shoved off.

Sev breathed heavily some hundred yards behind him. For Valinor's sake, the hobbit was impossible to keep track of. Then she saw a canoe out in the middle of the river . . . and Frodo inside of it.

She raced down the shore, right into the water. "Frodo, no!" she shouted. "Frodo!"

Frodo wanted to look at her. In fact, his desires and the Ring's drove for him to turn back and get her. But he pushed forward. "No, Sev," he muttered, but his voice cracked. He longed for her warmth.

Sev frowned. _Cursed Ringbearer. He's not coming back._ She shoved through the water, sliding on the sandy floor.

"Go back, Sev!" Frodo insisted. Sev glanced up at him, lifting an eyebrow.

Sev gave him an exasperated blink. "Frodo . . . as if I would."

"Sev, I'm going to Mordor alone."

Sev frowned. "You wouldn't last two minutes, you devil!" She continued, but she had to slow when the river grew too deep. "Besides, you need people of intelligence on this mission—suicidal—thing!"

"That's not encouraging," Frodo admitted.

Sev tapped her foot. He still hadn't come back to get her. "Well, you're not going alone unless you drown me."

Frodo's eyes slipped closed. She could be dreadfully obstinate. "But Sev, you can't swim!"

Sev gawked. "Then come back here and get me!" She waded forward despite her knowledge that she might not make it. "Now's a good time to lear—," Then a mouthful of water shoved into her throat, and she choked.

"Sev!" Absolutely stubborn. Frodo turned the canoe, but then Sev slipped all the way under. Her vision blackened.

Frodo scrambled to the side of the canoe. "Sev!" He hurriedly turned and approached the surface where she had fallen.

Sev tried to drag herself back towards the sunlight. _Get Frodo. Help Frodo . . ._ Her thoughts trickled away, but not from lack of air: her blood excitedly began to bond with the water around her, abandoning her to be emptied.

Frodo threw his hand into the water where he could see her tangled bush of hair drifting about. He caught her wrist, and she grabbed his back. She coughed when she broke the surface, and Frodo dragged her inside. She collapsed, not really caring how she did it, onto the floor of the canoe. She coughed and sputtered as Frodo lifted her to a sitting position. Her hair swamped all of her from the top of her head to her thighs.

"I swore an oath, Frodo Baggins." Her voice was muffled; Frodo swept her wet hair from her face, then laid his fingers carefully on her warm cheeks. She breathed heavily. "An oath! I'll never leave you." She swallowed against his fingers, some of which had settled on her neck. "Never."

Frodo struggled with himself for a moment. "Oh, Sev," he finally managed. He quickly grabbed her, held her as close as he could. Sev let him, relieved to be with him. He reached back and kissed her forehead for a long time, wrestling with the desire to claim her lips with his own . . . as well as the desire to send her back, to tell her he had to go alone for her sake.

Sev broke it off, and Frodo just stared at her. "Come on," she said, grabbing an oar. Frodo slowly backed away from her. The burden of the Ring again reached for Sev, and Frodo relaxed with relief as they rowed to the distant lake shore.

Frodo stepped out and extended his hand to Sev. She gripped his arm just below the elbow, and he lifted her onto the ground.

"A shame I can't be as strong as you are." She nudged him, but she meant it more than he knew. He turned a little pink, but didn't react further.

They walked quietly through the forest at the edge of the lake. Sev directed him up to the East, once he pointed the direction she said they should go. Just because she had read the map didn't mean she knew any compass point from another.

They crested a rise where the trees abruptly ended. They overlooked a huge, sprawling span of rock as well as plain wilderness as far as the eye could see. The Ash Mountains lined the distant horizon; beyond them lay Mordor. Mount Doom spewed lava and fire above the wall of stone, as though summoning the Ring home and Frodo into its deadly grasp.

"Mordor," Frodo breathed. Sev broke out of her current fears and anger to look up at him. He seemed doubtful . . . and felt it. His shoulders slacked. "I hope the others find a safer road."

Sev stepped up to his side. "Aragorn will take care of them."

Frodo stared wistfully into the distance. Sev frowned, glancing at his hand (which was tense and lowered). "I don't suppose we'll ever see them again," he said finally.

Externally exasperated and internally afraid of losing him, Sev slipped her fingers into his. "Frodo." He turned to her, and she neared him. The Ring sizzled, pulling at Sev, but she ignored it. "You need not fear. We may not see them in this life again—," She swallowed, straining back visions of Boromir being shot. "But we will see them."

Frodo smiled. "Sev . . ." He squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you're with me."

She released him, let him lead the way down into the rocks. They were now off to Mordor, to the land where the shadows lie.

 **Sorry if I copied some parts from teh last chapter, I'm scrambling to get these up. :P**


	26. Lost in a Wasteland

_Balrog roared, flashing a flaming whip before him. He snapped it dangerously through the air, just missing Gandalf._

 _"_ _You shall not pass!" Gandalf shouted. His voice echoed through the caverns of Moria. He raised his staff high over his head, then cracked it down on the stone. A light drew a line before his feet, between the wizard and the demon. Frodo trembled against the wall, helpless to do anything._

 _Despite Gandalf's warning, the demon marched forward, raising his whip to crack it down on Gandalf. But the bridge crumbled right at Gandalf's feet. Balrog roared in defeated anger as he tumbled into the dark chasm below; the endless flame fell with him, leaving Moria dark._

 _Grim but satisfied, the wizard turned away to join the Fellowship. Frodo settled, feeling quite a bit better . . . but something was still wrong. Balrog's whip snapped up through the air, just catching Gandalf's ankle with its flickering end. Gandalf grunted in protest, but the demon yanked back. The wizard's staff and sword fell away into the darkness, and he lost his stance. Before he could fall into the chasm, he grappled for a handhold on the edge of the ledge on which he stood. The whip finally released, having done what it needed to do._

 _Frodo ran for Gandalf—Sev was already to the bridge. But before he could reach the wizard, Boromir wrapped his arm in an iron grip around Frodo's torso, dragging him back. Frodo tried to scramble away; his pulse rushed, and shocked panic flooded him as he watched the wizard, dangling over the edge._

 _Frodo strained against Boromir helplessly. "Gandalf!"_

 _Time seemed to slow as Gandalf surveyed Frodo, meeting his gaze coldly. Frodo's heart thudded against Boromir's grip._

 _"_ _Fly, you fools," Gandalf hissed. Sev leaped for him, and even as he let go her arm slipped over the side to grab his hand. But he fell beyond her reach, tumbling into the horrible shadow._

 _"_ _Noo!" Frodo's cry bit his own ears as Gandalf fell, further and further down, pursuing the demon of fire. He yelled, grabbing his sword. He crashed it against the demon's horns. Balrog roared angrily, throwing Gandalf aside. The wizard dove back and attacked again._

 _They fell into a wide cavern filled with dark stone. The glow of fire illuminated the span of former darkness. Gandalf crashed his sword against the demon, and they crashed loudly into a huge lake deep in the mountain._

The crash awakened Frodo.

"Gandalf!" he cried, sitting up.

Sev turned over. "Frodo? What is it?"

Frodo breathed heavily. "Nothing," he said, glancing fleetingly over his shoulder. He nestled back into his blanket, his eyes laced with worry. "Just a dream."

Sev shook her head and sat up. He hadn't slept well for a few days; he insisted they keep walking whenever she told him to rest, and pushed until he couldn't move anymore. She assumed nightmares were the cause. Chances were excellent he wasn't yet asleep. Frodo didn't want to sleep as it was. His eyes remained wide open, and as Sev bent over his shoulder she asserted to herself that she had been right.

Sev's warmth only relaxed Frodo a little. Her cheek laid against his. "Frodo, it can't be nothing if it stirs you like that." Her jocosity was soft. "And if it's hard for you, it's important to me." Frodo turned, and his lips almost touched hers. But Sev backed away before such could have (ostensibly) accidentally happened.

He sighed and settled back down. He wanted to see if kissing her would halt his pain completely, but didn't push it for some fear, some excuse, he could not put a finger on. Something stirred within, saying he would have to push it eventually. To distract himself, he simply started speaking. "It was Gandalf. He fell at Moria again."

Sev carefully lowered her head back down to his shoulder, and her fingers sifted through his hair. His eyes rolled back; she was just trying to be helpful, but she didn't know how much it really impacted him.

"They fell down, down . . ." He swallowed. "There were flames everywhere. Gandalf was bleeding." Frodo winced at the thought.

Sev bit her lip, eyeing the despair so evident within him. Gandalf's loss had been more of a blow than initially she noticed, she realized. She didn't know how best to remedy that pain now. So she simply said what she thought.

"I miss him too," she admitted.

Her voice pierced the air just barely. Frodo turned over, gazing up at her, before he abruptly sat up and pulled her into his arms. He remembered that comfort after they got out of Moria—he subsequently squeezed her close to him. Taken aback, she slowly wrapped her arms around him to keep him up.

"We'll be all right," she insisted. "Gandalf's sacrifice was to get us far, Frodo, and we will honor that. Wherever he is, he will see he left to save us all."

He didn't reply. He started feeling rather exhausted with her warmth to muddle all the pain within. Her words didn't do quite as much; as she embraced him back, he could feel how much she really cared. He remembered her journal. Soon he stilled to sleep.

Sev kept going, just to ensure he wouldn't wake up. "I know it would make you feel best if he simply hadn't done it, but we cannot change that," she said, tracing her fingers through his hair. "We have something ahead of us, and all we can do is press onward and remember those we have lost." She let her voice trail off as she surveyed him. He slept rather well, although she doubted could breathe more deeply and feel more relaxed before this entire deal with the Ring had begun.

She swayed in place with him for only a moment before she gently laid him down on the ground. He shivered initially as cold air penetrated his cloak again. He subconsciously wished she would hold him again, but Sev didn't feel as though that would be best despite her desire to comfort him. She unclasped her cloak and laid it over him carefully, probing his shoulder and arm with light fingers as she smoothed out the fabric.

"My dear Frodo," she muttered. Then she sat back. "You're my best friend; I could only hope that I'm yours." Her gaze flickered to his neck and chest where the Ring lay, waiting to rip him apart.

"And you can just go back to the melting pot where you came from," she hissed.

About twenty minutes later, Frodo's psyche grew restless. The Ring had to be destroyed. Now. His eyes flickered open. He was still absolutely exhausted, but they needed to keep going. He turned to Sev, tiredly rolling over. He tried to seem awake so she wouldn't urge him to stay. The ground was more comfortable than walking, but they simply had to make as good of time as possible. If she convinced him to stay down he feared he would never move again.

Against his guess, Sev gently stepped over to him, actually with the motive of getting her cloak off of him before he noticed. She traced the side of his face with her fingers. "Are you ready?" she asked carefully.

Frodo yawned, although he tried to hide it, and nodded. Sev's brow furrowed with concern as she slipped her cloak back over her shoulders. But she said nothing. She knew he wanted to carry on, and the sooner she got him tired the sooner he would sleep. She grabbed his pack and extended a hand. He accepted it, and warmth trickled through his exhausted system. They couldn't have a fire, but he had his own for heat. Her warmth seemed to help his Morgul stab as well.

Despite Frodo's desire to keep her hand, he couldn't. They walked for only a few minutes before she had her hand back. Not only was it that, but when Frodo looked up he saw her standing over a large cliff. She beckoned to him, not tearing her gaze from the foggy drop.

She flicked her gaze up to the lava in the distance, now a bare glow in the hazy dawn. "This is the most direct way, but I wonder if it's even a good idea." She glanced back down. "Maybe we should go around—,"

Frodo shook his head as he approached her. "Sev, we've gotten lost enough. We should just go straight." He peered down into the fog, then glanced back at her. Hesitation overcame him; he wasn't so sure he wanted her going down that way, though.

But she had the Elvish rope out of her pack before he could suggest she take a safer way down. She tied the rope around a nearby jut of rock, but she trembled as she did so. She couldn't imagine letting Frodo scale something like this. But she wouldn't try to deter him.

"Oh, for Zincarna's sake," she breathed. The knot Sam had tried to show her for uprooting trees with chains (his strongest knot) . . . she could never get it. She twisted the rope this way and that. "Curses, Frodo, I don't remember this at all." She sat back, stumped.

Frodo knelt down behind her, glancing at the rock. Her face heated as his hands traveled to hers and lifted them; his head pressed against her shoulders as he thoughtfully guided her fingers through the first loop or two.

"Does this seem familiar?" he asked carefully. His eyes flickered down to their hands, and his cheek neared her own. He wondered why she seemed so afraid; she did love him, didn't she? But she didn't know he loved her back. Perhaps her struggle lay there.

Despite his thoughts, it was simply nearness Sev did not know how to deal with. She had a bubble, even if he didn't remember. She nodded hurriedly. "Thank you." She finished the knot, and Frodo's hands left hers to rest on her upper arms. His cheek touched hers lightly. The warmth of her face distracted him. She swallowed, her gaze flicking about. "I'm glad you remembered that," she chuckled nervously. "That's why I have you around to show me these things." Her brow furrowed. "Why do you have me around, anyway?"

Frodo smiled against her, and she could help but smile back knowing what he felt. "Because I'm your best friend. And you said I couldn't go alone."

Her smile faltered only the smallest bit. Apparently she didn't think of her as his best friend, although if he didn't love her he had a poor way of showing it. She thought of everything that had gone on between them . . . and only ended more confused. They weren't just friends, but if they were more Frodo was moving insanely slowly.

She sighed and sat back. Frodo moved with her, kneeling down.

"Well, it looks solid. I guess we ought to test it out." She shifted out of his grasp, now thoroughly perplexed when he seemed to not want to let her go. One of her eyebrows lifted.

Now Frodo was confused as well. Then he saw his pack on her back and held out his hand.

Sev eyed it mischievously. She grabbed it and shook it energetically as she gathered the Elvish rope in her hands.

"Not the time for farewells." She knew exactly what he was doing; she'd seen his eyes flicker to the pack. She solidified her grip. "I'm not dying yet."

She released his hand when he shook his head. "Sev, give me the pack. And you aren't going down first."

She shook her head. "Frodo, I won't give you the pack, and _you_ aren't going down first." She leaned forward for the rope, but Frodo had pretty much had it with her obstinacy. He slipped the pack from her shoulders, and while she attempted to take it back he grabbed the rope and slipped over the side of the cliff.

"Frodo, you devil!" He sighed and shook his head, then realized it might have been a mistake to go first: she would be reckless coming down after him, anxious every second of the climb.

After a few minutes, Sev's worry spread. "Can you see the end?" she called out.

Frodo glanced behind him. He could only see fog, no matter how hard he peered. "No! Don't look down, Sev, just keep going!"

 _It's not my fear that's the problem,_ she thought as she carefully rappelled down the cliff face, holding to the thin rope with a strain. She didn't care if she died, really. But if Frodo got hurt . . . she would never stop hurting him. Love could become an addiction if her nearness to him grew to include hurting him for sustenance. Real love and addictive hunger would both take over, and the latter would win. She slammed her head against the rock face to corral her thoughts. She berated herself harder when something—she assumed a dagger—slipped out from her side and barreled straight for Frodo.

"Frodo, look out!" she squawked initially.

Frodo glanced up, seeing something coming at him. Out of curiosity he reached out and grabbed it. The things that were important to Sev intrigued him, and this might have something that helped him know more. It looked like a simple wooden box. Sev breathed a sigh of relief that she saw what it truly was . . . until Frodo's feet lost their grip, and he tumbled into the mist below.

"Frodo!" Sev's heart stopped as she stared, dumbfounded and shocked, into the fog. She couldn't even go after him.


	27. We're Not Alone

Frodo only fell for a second or two before his feet slapped against solid ground, and he stumbled back in surprise. He glanced around, then up at Sev. "I think I've found the bottom!" he called up.

Sev breathed almost a cry of relief. She shimmied down after him, muttering to herself: "Dang it, dang it, dang it, dang it, dang it!" He glanced around at the rock as he heard her descending.

"Curses, Frodo, I'm so sorry," she began, but he abruptly turned to her.

"What is this?" he asked, his curiosity fired.

Sev bit her lip, and her eyes sank closed painfully. "Nothing," she muttered, exasperated with herself. "Just a bit of seasoning. Sam gave it to me at Rivendell." She laughed bitterly. "In case we were having a roast chicken or something, I guess."

Frodo stared at her incredulously, and she winced. He'd been expecting something profound. "Roast chicken?"

Sev shrugged sarcastically. "You never know what we could find out here."

Frodo chuckled and shook his head. "Sev. My dear Sev . . ." He clicked open the box and glanced inside. His expression grew solemn as he eyed the simple, dark salt inside. It smelled of home. He fingered a bit of it gently. Sev was not the only part of the Shire he'd brought with him.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," Sev said quietly. She tried to sound jocose, but she rubbed her heart absentmindedly from the ache that remained. She knelt down and drew her cloak around her shoulders. "I almost killed you for a chicken." That sounded more ridiculous outside of her head than in it, but when it came out she realized just how much that would have hurt if he had fallen and died. She rested her face on her knees. "I am ashamed."

Frodo picked up the jocosity, but when he saw her expression he knew she meant something more. He moved and stood at her back, bending down a little bit. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"It is special, though," Frodo said encouragingly. He knelt down beside her; she eyed him almost skeptically. "It's a little bit of home." He slipped it into the pack at his back, and she settled down.

Frodo turned to the Elvish rope. "We can't leave this here for someone to follow us down."

Sev looked up at him, one eyebrow lifted. "Gollum won't need it, if that's what you're saying," she said doubtfully. Then she sighed. "What a shame, though. Elvish rope from Lady Galadriel." Frodo glanced up at it hopefully; Sev shook her head. "You know that knot better than I do. I don't think that's coming down anytime soon."

Frodo stared up at the knot and tugged on the rope. Sev's eyes doubled in size when the rope slithered down the side of the canyon. She scrambled forward, lifted the rope, inspected it all over.

"Real Elvish rope." Frodo chuckled a little at her bewilderment.

"Indeed," she muttered, coiling the rope back up. Frodo gave her a hand to her feet. He might have kept it, except that Sev walked quickly ahead of him. Not only did she assume he wanted to move as fast as possible, but she anticipated he would rest soon if she kept ahead of him. But she almost moved out of his line of sight. He was too exhausted to call out after her, so she slowed for him.

When Frodo realized this was the case, he slowed ever more, and in fact concealed himself from time to time so she finally came back to his level unknowingly. Frodo managed to grab her hand. She glanced at him with one eyebrow cocked.

"To move faster?" she asked doubtfully.

Frodo blinked, unsure what she meant. He was simply glad of the warmth channeling through him, and her presence combating the darkness within him.

Sev held up their linked hands, the fingers of his clamped more tightly. She left her grip insanely relaxed. "You somehow managed to catch up, and I'm assuming your only motivation for that could be to move faster."

"Why should that be the sole motivation?" he asked, somewhat out of it.

"Because that's all you've been talking about for the past week," Sev said stoutly, pulling to a halt. Frodo, tired beyond all reason, smacked into her. She stumbled a little, but Frodo didn't notice. His head slapped down on her shoulder, and he nearly fell asleep right there. "You're driving yourself too hard, blast it!" Sev tried to pull her hand from his to stand him up by the shoulders, but he had an iron grip. So much within him, good and bad, determined not to let her go. So she had to stand him up with one hand. She cupped his cheek and lifted his gaze. His eyes flickered open and closed. Her resolve swayed with sympathy—her voice softened.

"Just be careful," she said, leaning closer to him. In his muddle Frodo's thoughts were the most prevalent rather than the considerations below them, and it struck him that she might kiss him. But she did no such thing. She turned and kept walking. She knew sleep was just around the corner, and she didn't want him to walk himself to death.

Despite what she expected, Frodo began to awaken. The Ring pulled for Sev, and reining it in caused everything within Frodo to sharpen up. His body accepted he would not get sleep, and he drew strength from Sev partially dragging him for a while.

Soon he let go, the moment he could tell she was going to turn him around and lay him down. She'd been increasing his pace by dragging him to her own, and the moment he let go she just about sprang forward a few feet. She paused, glancing back at him. She hoped to see him settle to the ground and get some rest, but he continued stumbling behind her. The Ring dragged against his neck, hard this time. He winced.

"Frodo?"

He nodded, not looking up at her eyes. He stood against a nearby rock for a moment until the weight abated only a little; soon he realized he'd have to carry the Ring at that weight. It would not let him go.

She turned and continued walking, slower this time, only a foot or two ahead of him.

At about the middle of the day they crested a rather large rise in the rocks. Sev hopefully glanced ahead, wishing she could see a path cut to Mordor. Mount Doom sputtered in the distance.

"Mordor," she muttered as she slowed to a halt. "The one place in Middle Earth we don't want to be and have to be." She shook her head. "And the one place in Middle Earth we can't get to either." She turned to Frodo, who was grateful for the halt. "Let's face it, Frodo: we're lost."

Frodo realized that a long time ago, but apparently Sev hadn't submitted to the idea yet.

"I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way," she said mournfully. Then she bit her tongue hard, and her eyes squeezed closed. She hadn't wanted to bring that up, but as she'd been thinking it all morning, it simply fell out now.

To her relief, Frodo just continued to stare into the distance. "He didn't mean for a lot of things to happen, Sev, but they did."

Sev paused, letting him stand where he did. He'd been walking enough.

Frodo's gaze lifted initially to the distance, and the Ring thudded against his chest like a second heart. Once he lifted his eyes and saw the lava in the mountain before him, pain flared as though the volcano were inside of him. He strained back, trying not to cry out. The Eye pierced him, searching the lands of Middle Earth for the Ring. Frodo coughed once as his lungs attempted to fail him—they sank easily under the weight of Sauron's gaze. He collapsed to the rock behind him and breathed heavily.

Sev felt it too, although recognized her pain and could counteract her reaction. She froze, then uncontrollably convulsed, as pains wracked her from toes to forehead, flaring with a shock through her back. When she stilled and turned, Frodo hadn't looked up. He saw her last convulsion and opened his mouth to ask her what had happened, but she got to it first.

"Frodo, are you all right?" She cocked her head. He trembled, and the Ring pulled for her. She frowned. "It's the Ring, isn't it?"

Frodo winced. "It's getting heavy."

 _Let her hold me, Frodo_ , the Ring purred. _She is strong. She can carry me better than you could._

Frodo clutched the Ring. He didn't have the strength to let it go, and he knew it would only burn Sev. He pressed on the metal with his fingers, trying to quiet the hissing voice inside. Sev reached forward and grabbed his hand. The Ring silenced reverently, pulling at her grasp, but she ignored it and just wrapped Frodo's fingers in her own. Frodo glanced up at her, grateful if not exhausted. Sev squeezed his hand and turned away. He reached out for her . . . but she moved too quickly, and didn't notice.

Frodo realized he needed water, and possibly food. He tipped his waterskin back, letting a little of the liquid trickle back into his throat. Sev fingered the waterskin at her side; she didn't intend to tell him she had switched them and filled his old one for when hers ran out. She didn't need water and hoped he wouldn't mind taking from both.

Frodo turned to her. "What food have we got left?"

Sev lifted an eyebrow. "Well, let's see." She was sarcastic from the start, and Frodo stifled a chuckle. She lowered the pack onto her lap and opened the top. She dug her hands inside. "Lovely," she muttered. Sarcasm dripped like rain from her voice, all assuming Frodo didn't appreciate lembas. "Lembas bread." She produced the leaf-bound pack and set it aside. "And look!" She pulled out two or three more packs. " _More_ lembas bread."

Frodo shook his head, glancing at the ground. She chipped off a square of the bread and tossed it to him; he caught it easily.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," she said. "I wish we had something else."

Frodo nibbled at it. Then he glanced up at her. "You won't have any?"

Sev shrugged. "I don't need it. You do."

He nodded at the pack. "There's more than enough to last me years, Sev." She snickered. "Go on; have some if you like."

She hesitantly cracked off a piece for herself and inspected it. Frodo watched her until she bit into it. Her reaction shocked him: her eyes sank closed in approval, and she chewed for a long time. Bread was her favorite base of anything, and this exemplified bread in a hard density for her. It was mildly sweet in the very tip of the tongue, and spread thickly across her mouth. She swallowed hard. That was certainly worth it.

She appeared unaffected when she opened her eyes at last. "Usually I don't love hard food. But this Elvish stuff—," She resisted a noise of pleasure as she licked her fingers. "It's not bad."

Frodo grinned slightly. "Nothing ever dampened your sarcasm, did it, Sev?"

Sev paused. She wouldn't lie to him, but he certainly asked an opening question. She pulled her knees close initially, not willing to speak. She almost felt invisible like she had for so many years before Frodo spoke to her. She swayed back and forth on her rock, sighing slowly.

Frodo cocked his head. Sev would have wished he wouldn't have watched her if she knew; her perspective on sympathy was that any signs of pity were false and condescending. But she didn't realize Frodo was still there—she easily tumbled back into the abyss of her thoughts that she hadn't since she had been alone, without his friendship. Thoughts of despair, of worthlessness; mental pathways that had been deepened by the severity of her internal punishments and the world's external punishments of her very existence.

She stiffened when Frodo's arm lay carefully across her shoulders. Her eyes widened, and her head shot up. Frodo jolted back just slightly, but the Ring pulled him to her.

"Sev?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

"What happened?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "I got lost." She shook her head. "I'm not entirely sure what you're asking."

"You must have lost your good humor once," Frodo said slowly. "For you didn't respond."

She snickered. "You don't know me that well, do you?" She nudged him. "I guess you do." She glanced up at him. It might have been an innocent, empty gesture . . . save he could see a burning darkness—almost hatred—in her eyes, something that wanted to be rid of itself. It struck fear into him, and even the Ring shied from her. "I told you, I'm no stranger to pain."

He could see the agony within her, and he knew her . . . he knew what she meant, and he knew what he thought of it. He knew he loved her despite what she thought of herself. He leaned in and lifted his hand simultaneously, but once again she did not notice. She turned when she heard the boom of thunder in the distance.

"Leave it to rainclouds to dampen sarcasm." She stood. "Come; we should find cover somewhere."

Sev quickly located a canyon, convinced that Frodo needed to be hidden from the rain. A loud clap of thunder sounded above them, and Sev flinched. She scrambled down the canyon, but when she reached the bottom she waved back at Frodo.

"Don't come that way!" She winced at her cracked shoulder that began to mend itself, and the nasty gash above her elbow pained; she didn't want Frodo to get one at all. She stuck her finger inside and flinched. Three centimeters or so: it was a deep one.

She hid it beneath her cloak as Frodo climbed down the rocks carefully. He leaped off the last one, and she caught him. A bit of her blood dripped against his cloak, and she hissed to herself, trying to rub it out.

"Sev?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. It isn't deep." She tried to sound casual, but Frodo's eyes shot wide open. Her voice trembled.

"Sev, what did you do?" He peered around her. She shook her head.

"Frodo, it's nothing the rain won't wash away," she insisted. The rain would give her psychological strength, and therefore the ability to survive the night as she ignored the throbbing in her elbow. "And it needs to have pressure, but I think it'll be fine."

Frodo gaped at the huge gash. "Sev . . ."

"Frodo, you're tired, and I'm all right."

Frodo bit his lip. If he didn't tell her, she could drain something . . . he had gotten minor scrapes from walking around on the sharp rocks, so he let it alone until they sat down together. The rain poured hard. Frodo glanced up at Sev.

"I think I have a rock stuck on my foot, Sev," he said, unsure how she would take it if she found out he lied. But he quickly dismissed it.

Sev lifted an eyebrow and peered over at his foot. Her brow furrowed, and she reached forward. Frodo's eyes flickered shut at the warmth and the fading of the aches in his feet as she probed the skin there. She plucked a small pebble from his heel and tossed it aside.

"Got it," she said, glancing at him uncertainly. He'd had a lot of small, open cuts, and she could feel her blood replenishing. Her skin began to mend faster, and she might have thanked him if she thought he would understand. She hesitated, then leaned against the rocks behind her.

A wild wind started up, kicking the rain against them despite the shelter of the canyon. Frodo shivered as cold water soaked into his cloak and hair. He lifted his hood over his face and ducked into his cloak.

"Good night, Frodo," Sev tried, but his discomfort was too much. He wouldn't say anything. The pain of everything collective nearly shut down his senses, and he just sat there trying to sleep.

Sev took off her cloak, but before she could give it to him the rain began to patter against her skin. She moaned lightly and sank back into the wet rock: the rain felt like gentle kisses, all over her face and arms. Then she remembered that while the rain washed away her troubles, they made Frodo's heavier.

She slipped the cloak around him. Frodo settled, not sure entirely what had brought on that moment of warmth until Sev pulled away. Then he shivered and pulled both cloaks tighter around himself, although unaware that another layer had joined that already on him.

Sev settled back into the rocks, watching him, weighing whether or not his continued shivering would pull her to wrap her arms around him. She feared the fickle oscillations of his affection; they would likely have more impact as she invested herself in him. She bit her lip.

Frodo thought he heard something, and he lifted his gaze from his knees for only a moment before Sev caught his movement. She looked up as well; she watched Gollum slink back from the cliff above. She growled darkly.

Frodo turned to her, surprised she was still awake. "What is it?"

Sev shrugged. "Nothing you didn't see yourself."

The hobbit turned back to sleep . . . and then his brow furrowed. "Where's your cloak?" He flicked his gaze back to her, concerned.

Sev paused. If she told him, he might freeze to death. "I'm tired. I couldn't say." She shoved her hand over his face, but instinctive sympathy flooded her when she felt all the water gathering on his skin. She gently wiped it away, warming and drying him. Frodo leaned into her hand, and she could tell. "Get some sleep, Frodo, or I might knock you out." She cupped his cheek, and he settled at her touch. "No storm lasts forever."

She backed away to try and let him sleep. Although Frodo feigned it, his exhaustion begged him to let go of consciousness. But fear of Gollum and discomfort in the storm, with no source of energy but the Ring, Frodo could not force himself to sleep. He shivered; his toes and nose grew numb, despite his attempt to curl into himself. The rain, hard and relentless, soaked through his cloaks and weighed them down.

Sev's procrastination and fears ground to a halt when she saw him shivering uncontrollably. His head tipped back, trying to warm his neck. Sev reached over and lightly tapped a finger to his nose. Frodo didn't move, afraid to do so would be to ward her off. She leaned forward—warmth flooded Frodo as she lifted his limp torso into her arms. Frodo subtly organized himself as locked in as he could. Sev almost didn't care if he was still asleep. She laid his head beneath her own. The rain deepened while she tightened her arms around his shoulders. He breathed deeply, and fell asleep for some time while his discomfort melted away at her simple touch. Sev felt at peace as well, knowing he was all right.

Close to morning, once the rain faded away, Frodo moaned in a dream. Sev smiled and lowered her head. Her lips touched his ear. "I love you, Frodo," she whispered. He caught it in the barest strips of consciousness, and rolled in her embrace. She slowly laid him back against the rock to sleep the rest of the night. She needed no rest, but didn't know what impact or lack thereof she'd had on him just being there. Sev stretched across the ground and slept for a good hour or so.

Frodo awakened before she did, and as he stood he realized she'd actually fallen asleep. He cocked his head as he surveyed her; staying up so late, and beyond him, she was probably exhausted. He almost wanted to let her sleep.

But they had a quest to finish.

Frodo knelt by her side. _What am I waiting for?_ He glanced at her dark lips. She was not in her cloak, and he wondered at how unnaturally naïve she seemed without it. He knew what she'd been through, and yet—watching her as her lungs swelled and settled—she looked perfectly harmless.

He didn't realize he'd been leaning down to her until the Ring slipped out of his shirt and seemed to reach suddenly for her. He snatched it back and sat upright abruptly just as it would have skimmed her mouth.

Sev sensed the warmth, and her brows drew together as she awakened. Her mouth tingled, and she fingered her lips.

Frodo stood slowly, and she followed, scooping her cloak back up from where it lay in a crumpled heap. He hadn't noticed. She could do it again if she wanted.

Frodo still felt a little tingle of guilt when he remembered trying to kiss her, and the Ring almost did it instead. He shook his head, carrying on through the foggy rock. Sev reached out to stop him, but he seemed determined to keep walking. She felt like they'd been this way before; they were headed in the wrong direction. Eventually she got ahead of him, however, and finally stopped.

"I think this place looks familiar," she hinted sarcastically.

Frodo broke out of the Ring's muddle and stared around hopelessly. "That's because we've been here before!"

 _And thus the sarcasm is lost_ , Sev muttered to herself.

"We're going in circles!"

Sev inhaled slowly, settling her patience. She'd known this all morning. But then, as her breath came in, so did a foul smell, like acrid mud. "I'd wager there's a swamp somewhere around here. Can you smell it?"

Frodo stepped forward. He felt Gollum's presence. "Yes. I can smell it." Then he turned to her. "We're not alone."

Sev nodded in acknowledgement. "I saw him," she muttered, glancing behind her. She turned, and they continued walking.

"I've seen him coming closer for the past few weeks," Frodo said. "I know you saw him last night; that's the closest he's dared to come since we reached this wasteland." Then he turned to Sev. "If you're ever awake when I'm not, you might well let me know in some way when he comes."

Sev nodded. "I'll just take my cloak back." Her eyes widened when Frodo ground to a halt. She looked up at him worriedly, and her face turned pale gray. "I mean . . ."

Frodo's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, take your cloak back?"

She relaxed. Somehow she almost thought he might lash out at her, uncertain what the Ring's influence would do to him. She shrugged. "You're cold at night, and I'm not. The most I can do is give you my cloak."

"Is that why you didn't have it last night?" Frodo grabbed her upper arm before she could keep walking.

Sev nodded a little abruptly. "Frodo, we have to keep moving."

"Promise me you'll keep it tonight," he insisted. "Sev, I'm all right. I need you to survive this."

She pushed his hand away and kept walking. "I'll be fine. You're the one shivering. I enjoyed that rain last night, for the record." _And I enjoyed having you cold, so I could hold you and tell you what I thought of you._ She shook the thought away before she said it out loud, but Frodo noticed her deep blush as her eyes closed. "Besides, I can take it back when Gollum is nearby. Without that I might not be able to warn you. I am not keeping it."

Frodo followed her, persisting often that she keep it. She refused every time.

"Frodo, I can agree to keep it, but it's not actually going to happen." She folded her arms and faced him impatiently. "You might as well give up."

Frodo pulled his last thought. "And if I wake up with it on I'm giving it back."

Sev kept walking. "It won't help!" she called back to him as he caught up to her.

"You must be cold too," he insisted.

"Not as much as you are." She remembered the way he'd shivered that night, and her steps slowed. She remembered the clammy chill of his nose against her fingers; her fist clenched as she glanced back at him. Her voice softened, and he certainly noticed. "Pay it no mind, Frodo. If I'm dying I'll take it back."

Frodo strained to stay awake that night, trying to pay attention to when further warmth joined him. After some time he heard her breathing grow deep, and he finally relaxed into rest. Sev waited a moment until she was sure Frodo couldn't stay up any longer. She glanced at him, watched his eyes settle closed.

Sev crept over the short distance between her and Frodo with her cloak off. She slipped it over his feet and bunched it there. A shiver of warmth cut off the bare chill in Frodo's toes, and he sighed initially. She slinked away triumphantly until his murmur pierced the air.

"You're no good to me dead, Sev," he mumbled, exhausted.

Sev considered he was too tired to really resist. She sat up on the ground before laying against a smooth rock below. "I'm not going to die; you're overreacting a little bit. And I'll give you a signal if necessary."

Frodo's eyes flickered open. She glared at him.

"I don't need one," he said. "I saw him earlier; I know he's coming tonight."

Sev obstinately lay down and tried to get him to sleep. She wouldn't sleep, but he needed it.

Frodo waited for her to take her cloak back, but he didn't have to for long before he knew without a doubt that she would not turn to get it. He breathed tiredly and stood with her cloak bunched in his hand. He would miss that little shred of comfort.

But as he stood over her, he realized she was shivering. Sev didn't feel cold. In fact, she thought it was fear of the Ring that made her tremble, but Frodo knew better. Something inside him melted with sympathy as she curled up tighter and tighter. It took no effort at all then for him to spread her cloak out over her body, smooth it against her shoulders.

Sev stretched in the warmth, relishing the simple fabric. Frodo smiled pitifully. Sev didn't know what miraculous brilliance had come over her . . . until she realized what it was.

"Frodo, take it back," she said, shoving to keep the pleasure out of her voice.

Frodo sat back only to speak. She would sit up and try to give it to him. But he could be stubborn too. "No, Sev," he said. He hadn't survived the Ring thus far to give in to a woman he loved. He leaned forward again.

Sev furrowed her brow and sat straight up, but Frodo anticipated her move. She nearly smacked into him, and her eyes doubled in size. The tip of her nose touched his before she sank back close to the ground. Frodo initially caught her shoulders with one hand. She felt so light and fragile in his fingers. Her heart beat wildly back and forth, like a crazed bird caught in a cage.

Frodo could hardly stay still. His gaze flickered quickly to her stark lips. He swallowed back the kiss he wished for, but in holding her with his one hand he realized he was only bringing her closer to him.

"If you take your cloak back, Gollum will notice movement and be warned," he said finally. She stared up at him, a little stunned at his closeness. He let his other hand drift to her shoulder opposite him, and he laid his free hand on her closer shoulder. He let her down in her cloak. "Rest, Sev."

Sev didn't know what to say, so the first thing that came out was entirely sarcastic. "You rest," she mumbled. "You devil." She also felt chagrined at his final response to her offer of the cloak.

Frodo couldn't have heard her voice less. As she fitfully wrapped herself in her cloak, not facing him, he stared at the lips he wanted to feel. He leaned in close, but it would have been odd to reach that far over. So he settled to feel the strange warmth radiating from her face, lowered his cheek down close to hers. He brushed his lips against that cheek, then backed away. Sev tried not to react, but she couldn't help her back stiffening.

"Thank you, Frodo," she said finally. "It's much warmer now."

 _I was right,_ he thought carefully. He wondered if he was right about more than he knew. "Good night, Sev."

It encouraged her to think he didn't sound upset or distanced. She settled against her rock, satisfied with all that had transpired even if she wanted him to notice her more.

Perhaps he did notice.

She rolled her eyes at herself; _insanely slowly_ , she reminded herself.

Sev's eyes shot wide open when she heard a hissing voice high above her. Frodo did not move. He couldn't—the voice chilled him to the bone.


	28. Lead the Way, Gollum

"They're thieves!" Gollum spat. "They stole it from us!" The voice grew closer. "Where is it? We must has it; we hates them! My . . . Precious . . . we kills them . . ."

Sev couldn't abide it any more. She felt Gollum getting closer. She sprang up when Frodo did, and they grabbed Gollum by his boned, leathery arms. Gollum shrieked in surprise as the hobbit and the anti-creature threw him from the mountainside. Gollum was stronger than he appeared; he kicked Frodo off and shoved Sev aside. Sev's head cracked against the mountainside behind her as Gollum desperately surfed through the small resting site.

Frodo scrambled to a sitting position, and the Ring slipped out of his shirt. Gollum's wide, pale eyes shot to the gold, and he grew horribly fierce. He leaped on Frodo, grappling for the Ring and hissing angrily. Frodo shoved him back, partially from determination to keep him off the Ring and partially for the need to keep it.

The moment Sev recovered, she rose and grabbed Gollum's leg. She tried to drag him off of Frodo, but Gollum only threw the hobbit aside while he turned to attack Sev. He slammed her into the stone again, then clambered up onto the nearby cliff. He leaped angrily onto Frodo, scrambling for the Ring. Sev quickly wrapped her arms around Gollum's brittle torso and lifted him. Gollum turned back and smacked his forehead against hers. The impact surprised her, and a migraine sprang into her head as her blood raced there to quell the pain. Gollum braced her head out of the way and sank his teeth into her shoulder. She could hardly cry out, and she collapsed easily to Gollum's prodding. He wrapped his legs around her stomach and braced his lower arm against her neck, quickly choking her.

Frodo scrambled for Sting, and a furious energy built up within him he had never felt before. The sword hissed from its scabbard and Frodo reached forward, grabbing the back of Gollum's head. He braced the creature away from Sev and held the tip of the sword to his throat.

But Gollum did not let go of Sev.

"This is Sting," Frodo said venomously. Sev's eyes bulged with fear until she realized Frodo was not addressing her. "You've seen it before, haven't you, Gollum?"

Gollum sniffed, obviously taken aback. He tightened his grip on Sev's throat, and her eyes slacked back. Her vision blackened.

Frodo pressed the sword closer, resisted doing anything he would regret. "Release her," he said darkly, "or I'll cut your throat."

Gollum let go very hesitantly. Sev's vision returned, and her blood flooded to her neck to heal her. She scrambled away from Gollum, rubbing her neck. She coughed uncontrollably and curled into a ball. Gollum turned while Frodo was distracted, but the hobbit caught Gollum by the wrist and lifted the point of Sting to his chest. Gollum writhed, trying to break away.

"Sev?" he said urgently.

She glanced up and nodded hurriedly. Aching pain throbbed in her throat, but she couldn't let it stop them right now. At Frodo's command she slipped the Elvish rope around Gollum's throat. The creature lashed and hissed; Sev snapped away fearfully.

Frodo had to coax her back. "Sev, it's all right, I have him." She eyed Frodo skeptically, then hurriedly tied a slipknot around Gollum's neck. In her panic she could remember nothing else. Gollum howled when the rope made contact with his flesh, and his body slapped against the ground. He shrieked, hissed, and spat as he squirmed.

Sev gently took Sting from Frodo and sheathed it. Frodo kept a firm hand on Gollum's rope as his adrenaline over Sev's near death subsided. She backed away to grab a rock for support, still breathing heavily. She did not look up at Frodo. Her gaze flickered as blood pulsed angrily through her neck. She'd never felt this before.

Frodo glanced at her hand that rubbed fleetingly against her skin. She winced. It felt like shards of glass were poking against her throat, so she left it. Frodo peered, his brow narrowing: a black bruise lined her entire neck where Gollum's arm had grasped.

A wave of protective furiosity swept briefly through Frodo, and his gaze flicked back to the pitiful creature on the ground by his feet. He slowly stepped towards her, sympathy replacing the swell of fire he felt within. He knelt down before her. She glanced up, her dark eyes pained.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly.

Sev nodded barely, straining to speak. "I'm sure—," _it's nothing_ , she thought, finishing her statement within. But before she could continue out loud angry coughs racked her, scraping against her throat. She dragged it to a halt. Frodo cupped her face in his hand and traced the bruise with a gentle finger. Sev's eyes slipped closed. She felt cared for in that moment; those were the times she loved the most. Her breath heaved.

Frodo backed away when he felt she would be all right. Then he glanced back at Gollum, who continued his wailing at what seemed to be the top of his lungs.

"We're not going to get any sleep," Sev said coarsely. Frodo turned to her abruptly, but she waved a hand and stood. He nodded slightly in agreement, and they both turned to continue on the road.

Gollum's screams filled the air as they dragged him along. Frodo handed the rope off to Sev when she could tell he'd grown exhausted. Her throat still did not feel much better, but she hoped she could speak. As they continued, she wondered how long Gollum would be able to shriek before his voice ran dry. After three hours she could discern what he was saying:

"It burns! Oh, it burns, it hurts us!"

Sev turned to face him. "For heaven's sake, Frodo," she rasped, "if this keeps up I doubt we'll be secretive or alive much longer."

Gollum strained against the rope, whining and rolling.

"Maybe we should just tie his mouth shut," she continued, her voice hissing. She coughed a couple of times, and Frodo slipped a hand over her back.

Gollum looked up, his eyes wide. "No! That would kill us . . . _kill_ us!"

"You wouldn't die, but that's not the point," she muttered. It came out a faint whisper, enough that Frodo didn't even pick it up.

He eyed the pitiful creature writhing before him. Frodo felt the Ring tug at him. The Ring had ruined this poor thing. A sad story, Gandalf had said, and no doubt the Ring was the only character to blame here. "Maybe he does deserve to die," Frodo felt himself saying as he recalled Gandalf. Gollum protested, and Sev shook her head silently.

"But now that I see him . . . I do pity him," Frodo admitted.

Gollum suddenly grew silent and hopeful. He crept towards Frodo, and a growl built in the back of Sev's throat, back where Gollum had not touched.

"We swears to be good! We swears to do whatever it wants!" Gollum grabbed the rope and waved it in front of his face. "Take it off us!"

Frodo eyed Gollum carefully. "There isn't a promise you can make that I would trust," he said dangerously. Sev cringed again, then realized once more that Frodo was not addressing her. She hoped he would never talk to her like that; it frightened her.

But he would do what he would. She quieted her thoughts.

Gollum bowed, almost groveled reverently. "We swears to serve the Master of the Precious." Sev's eyes narrowed as Gollum continued. "We swears on . . . on . . . on the Precious! _Gollum, gollum!"_

Frodo's expression grew skeptical. "The Ring is very treacherous, and will hold you to your word."

"We swears," Gollum persisted.

Sev's shoulder ached where Gollum had bitten it the night before, and she rasped suddenly. "Frodo, we can't trust him." The creature leaped away frightfully, pulling so quickly and hard that Sev stumbled forward, then yanked back on the creature.

"Sev!" Frodo straightened her up, holding her there. She shook her head as she surveyed him.

"Frodo, I'm not about to let him kill you. I don't trust him." Her gaze darkened. She tried to reason with herself that the pain she felt—her headache, the huge bite in her shoulder, and the line of bruise staining her flesh—held no cause for her to think of Gollum this way.

But his ability to take Frodo's life, powered by his lust for the Ring, did.

Frodo turned from her and gently knelt down in front of Gollum. The creature scrambled away from him until he considered Frodo possibly meant no harm. Frodo was patient, and sat before the creature.

"You know the way to Mordor," he said carefully.

Gollum nodded, a little stunned. "Yes."

"You've been there before."

Gollum nodded again.

Frodo reached over and slipped the loop of Sev's knot over Gollum's head. The creature looked even more shocked. Sev turned her gaze away; she could feel the darkness setting in now.

"You will lead us to the Black Gate," Frodo asserted.

Gollum immediately sprang up—half enthusiastic but definitely battling with himself—and led the way through the maze of rocks. Periodically, whenever he dashed ahead on all fours, he would glance back impatiently at Frodo.

"Hurry, hobbitses!"

Sev did not mind Gollum's persistence, but whenever he addressed Frodo as "Master" it set her on edge. It almost sounded like Gollum was worshipping Frodo, and she knew that couldn't be true. Then she realized it addressed the Ring instead of Frodo. She growled to herself until her throat hurt again.

Gollum began trying to convince himself not to go back to Mordor, muttering beneath his breath as he cowered against a rock. The hobbit and anti-creature strained to catch up. Gollum buried his face in his hands. "Always the Great Eye, watching, watching . . .!" He concluded his monologue and turned to Frodo and Sev. He hissed loudly before taking off into a crowd of corners. He vanished before either of those following him could find him.

"So much for swearing," Sev rasped wistfully.

Then Gollum's head poked up from behind one of the rocks. He looked a little more settled, and sounded rather optimistic. "Hurry, hobbitses! This way!"

Frodo shot Sev a look, not egotistical enough to say "I told you we could trust him." Sev just followed submissively, actually a little relieved to be wrong.

They pursued Gollum through the labyrinth for most of the day until he led them to an opening the halflings had not seen before. Not that either of them had seen the majority of the country they'd passed through throughout the day, but this opened to a bittersweet sight: before them lay an empty plain, and then the Ash Mountains. Sev breathed a sigh of relief. They were free of the rocks.

"See? We showed them!" Gollum seemed somewhat proud of himself. Frodo nodded to him on his way out. Sev had a partial form of respect for the little creature now . . . but she couldn't bring herself to trust him entirely. She breathed a thanks on the way out, but Gollum cringed at what seemed like harshness in her voice.

"Nice hobbit," he muttered. Her blood made him nervous, too. While he loathed the light, he knew somehow that she could be destructive to him.

Frodo forged his own way own, as Gollum basically crawled like an animal straight down the rest of the slope. Sev followed Frodo, but she entered the plain first. It didn't entirely look normal.

She took one step off the rock, and her foot sank into murky ground. She inhaled sharply and tried to back out, but her leg was stuck up to the knee. Frodo grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back.

"A swamp," she muttered. Her voice began to return, and she almost triumphed at it. She glanced into the distance. _Probably solid enough that I don't carry Frodo the whole way._

"The marshes, yes," Gollum hissed gleefully. "Come, hobbits!" He gestured forward and sprang nimbly over what solid ground there was. "We will take you on safe paths through the mist."

As Frodo and Sev followed him a little uncertainly, he continued his ominous monologue to no one in particular. "We found it . . . the safe way through the marshes! Orcses don't use it. Orcses don't know it. They go around, for miles and miles and miles! Come, hobbits; swift and silent as shadows we must be."


	29. Temptation in the Marshes

They stopped to eat at what Sev guessed was about midday, although it was a little difficult to tell: the haze of the mist concealed the sun's position, much less a good deal of its light.

Frodo and Sev sat back to back on a slightly elevated rock, as though there hadn't been enough rock in their lives for the past few weeks. Sev glanced around at the desolation crowding them, and a chill raced through her as she surveyed the emptiness. It didn't feel safe here.

Frodo turned to her. "Sev?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen anything living out here. Not even so much as a bird."

Gollum moaned. "No, no birdses to eat. Beautiful, crunchable birdses . . . !" His voice escalated into a shrieking whine. "We are famished, Precious!" Then he reached down and delightedly scooped up a worm. Sev held in a groan of nausea and looked away as he ate it. But then he was right back to moaning.

He rolled about on the marsh grass until Frodo felt that stroke of pity for him. The hobbit chipped off a square of his lembas. "Here," he said, tossing it to Gollum. Gollum perked up, eyeing it. He glanced excitedly up at Frodo. "What is it? Is it . . . tasty?"

Sev winced, sure he would react as he had to the Elvish rope. As he took a bite into it, that was his exact response. He screeched and moaned. "We can'ts eat hobbit food!" he shouted. Then he burrowed into the ground. "We must starve!"

"Whining about it will change nothing," Sev sighed.

Gollum gasped, staring up at her. "Girl-one does not care. Girl-one does not care if we're hungry; she does not care if we should die!" Sev closed her eyes . . . until his voice changed. He looked at Frodo. "Not like Master."

Frodo eyed the creature carefully. Gollum crept towards him. "Master knows. Girl-one cannot know." Frodo reached for the Ring, suddenly feeling protective in a way that was not his own. Gollum glanced at Frodo's hand wistfully and reached for his own neck. "Once it grabs hold . . ." He leaned forward. His hand rose to the Ring. ". . . it never lets go . . ."

Suddenly the Ring lashed at Frodo, and its influence poured out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Don't touch me," he said harshly, and his hand knocked Gollum's away. The creature gawked, a little brokenhearted. He looked to Sev, then stepped away and burrowed into the dry grass to rest.

They did not tarry long. Frodo knew they lived on limited time, but somehow he managed to take up the back. Sev didn't feel comfortable leaving him unwatched, but try as she might he wouldn't walk faster than she did.

Finally Sev halted, staring down into the marsh. Her eyes widened and she grabbed Frodo's arm. He jolted and started at her.

"Look! Dead faces," she muttered. Pale, empty faces and full, armored bodies lay still everywhere. Frodo flicked his gaze around. Something about them pulled at him, pulled at him hard indeed.

Gollum turned back, an evil grin lacing his face. "There was a great battle here," he hissed, "with men and Elves and orcses. The Dead Marshes . . . yes, that is their name." He continued walking. "Come, hobbits."

As the group continued, Sev's foot slipped on the murky ground again, and her foot shot straight into the water. Gollum turned and berated her immediately.

"Careful! Or hobbits join the dead ones and make lights of their own."

Sev continued to follow Gollum, but one particular Elvish warrior caught Frodo. It wasn't anything special about the Elf . . . just something about the still way he lay dead there. It frightened Frodo, stilled him into submission. He stared down at the warrior, until its empty, white eyes opened and stared at him.

Sev realized Frodo wasn't following him, and she turned quickly just in time to see him fall, headfirst, into the marsh.

"Frodo!" She leaped for him, but even as she reached out to grab him, her body realized Frodo was very vulnerable now. As her fingers entered the water and located him, her instincts screamed and raged— _Kill him! Kill him!_ He would provide more sustenance for her with that Morgul stab than anything, and if he died she would have an excuse to heal him.

Her eyes shot wide open. "No!" Sev yanked away. Her body fought her. Searing heat raced through her blood and a crushing ice veiled her skin. She convulsed powerfully. Gollum hissed when he saw her coiled on the ground, and he raced to the riverside. "Frodo, no!" Sev shouted uncontrollably, twitching and writhing against her very nature. Two voices spoke out loud: the frightened, pained side of her that cared enough about him to sacrifice herself, and the sadistic, lustful side that would kill him itself if he came up alive.

Inside the marsh water, the ghosts of Elves advanced slowly on Frodo. He scrambled back, but in the water he could only move so quickly. A firm hand closed around his shoulder and dragged him back, leaving the horrifying vision behind.

Frodo sputtered as Gollum dragged him over the bank and dropped him on his back. Frodo breathed heavily, then turned to thank Sev. His eyes widened; it wasn't Sev. "Gollum?"

Gollum grabbed his shoulder again. "Don't follow the lights," he hissed before turning away.

With the possibility of Frodo's death gone, Sev's pains slowly dragged to a halt. She strained to her knees, yanked herself across the ground towards him. She strained not to gasp for air. "Frodo, are you all right?" She tried to survey him through her dizziness, but her gaze flickered.

Frodo nodded . . . then frowned. He turned to her, still a little dazed but not out of it enough not to notice her flickering consciousness.

"I'm fine," he said, suspicion spreading through his voice. "What happened?"

Sev eyed him blankly. "You fell in. Why, I don't know." She strained to sit up, but with her lack of strength collapsed right into Frodo. She tried to scramble back, but couldn't move. Frodo held her head to his chest; he quickly began to dry off.

"I did, Sev, but what happened to you?" he persisted. "You're shaking."

Sev shook her head, pulse racing at her closeness to Frodo. "Just pains. I'm all right." She pulled away from him to stand, but only collapsed again. She shuffled against the marsh ground, wishing she didn't show weakness so easily. Frodo had to bring her to her feet; she didn't think he had the strength for it, but he recovered from falling well enough.

Frodo didn't take his gaze off of her the rest of the day. It unnerved her a little bit to have him so concerned, but it made her feel protected at the same time. He wondered what if anything had triggered it; he thought it somewhat coincidental that she would fall under pain at the same time he did. That only made him a little more cautious about the Ring, and if its impact on him did anything detrimental to her.

But late that night as he pondered it, Frodo found himself staring at the Ring. The Ring slipped into his palm, shiny and open. It numbed him from the pain, from the cold surrounding him. He stroked the Ring reverently, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It whispered to him, soothed him. Sev stood to give him her cloak—he'd huddled into himself to hide the Ring—when she saw the Ring in his palm. She backed away slowly, hurt by his sudden attachment. Then she frowned as she laid coldly faced away from him: it hadn't been that slow. Then her expression softened. He'd resisted for so long, she couldn't pressure him to keep going like he had.

 _It's so precious_ , Frodo thought, letting his eyes drift shut. The smooth curve of the Ring brushed softly under his finger. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed its beautiful shine before.

"So beautiful, so bright . . ." Gollum sighed. "My Precious."

Frodo hurriedly threw the Ring back in his shirt, then rolled over. Gollum stroked an imaginary Ring in his palm. The similarity to his own actions shocked Frodo, and his distrust and dislike of the Ring immediately sprang back into him. He eyed Gollum carefully; fear struck through him as he realized Gollum had once been exactly like him.

"What did you say?" he whispered disbelievingly.

Gollum turned his head slightly. "Master must rest," he said mockingly. "Master needs to keep up his strength."

Frodo narrowed his eyes and stood, towering over Gollum. The creature did not turn to look at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded quietly.

"Mustn't ask us, not its business." Gollum was remarkably nonchalant.

Frodo knelt down behind him, persisting. "Gandalf told me you were once one of the River folk," he said. Gollum ignored him, muttering an abstract poem as Frodo circled him on his knees, trying to catch his eye. "He said your life was a sad story!"

"They do not see when sun has faded or moon is dead!"

Finally Frodo faced him head-on, and his voice softened. "You weren't so different from a hobbit once, were you?" Gollum's eyes turned to him as he breathed the last word. "Smeagol."

Gollum's eyes widened. "What did you call me?"

"That was your name once," Frodo explained as epiphany rose to the creature's face. "Long ago."

"My name," Gollum whispered reverently. "My name!" His mouth spread into a smile. "Smeagol."

Sev could do not but sigh with the sweetness of what she heard, how she felt Frodo had restored the poor creature. As much as he could be restored, anyway. Smeagol hissed under his breath when he heard her, and she let her eyes sink closed; he would never forgive her for her skepticism.

"Girl-one cannot understand," Smeagol spat. "Girl-one does not like Smeagol."

Frodo stood, eyeing what he thought Sev's sleeping form. "She's just trying to protect me, Smeagol." Then he walked over to her, knelt silently by her side. He could tell then that she was awake: her breathing was not even. "And at least we understand each other. No one knows her struggles; she's more alone than we are." His voice dropped to a low murmur as he eyed her tense expression.

She tried to relax when she realized Frodo was right at her back, but she knew to move would be to possibly frighten him off. She wanted to see what he would do.

What did he know about her struggles? She had told him nothing . . . had she?

Frodo tenderly let his fingers touch her face. The finger that had traced the Ring's curve a moment ago softly rounded the curve of her cheek, of her jaw, her forehead. He cocked his head. He reached down to shake her shoulder, to alert her before he kissed her.

A shriek stopped him, and he spun as Sev sat upright. Smeagol screeched and dove under a nearby bush.

"Nazgul," Sev cursed, ducking for the bush as well. She grabbed Frodo's wrist, but he immediately tumbled from her hold with a strained moan that might have been a cry if it had enough behind it. Frodo shoved his fist to his Morgul stab. The shriek struck with a chill at his shoulder; he strained against it, his eyes squeezing shut. Pain rebounded through him, and he convulsed to keep it away. The dagger pierced his skin over and over again.

Sev grabbed him by the arm and dragged him under the bush. Frodo scrambled with her, shoving against the ground with his feet. Sev let him fall under the branches. Frodo left the Morgul stab to grab at the Ring; it burned with a desire to leave him, to find the shrieking Nazgul.

"I thought they were dead," Sev muttered. Then she remembered what Aragorn had said.

Smeagol regarded her exasperatedly. "You cannot kill them." His gaze turned to the Ring, at Frodo's hand clenched at his heart. "They are calling for it! They are calling for the Precious!"

Sev's gaze turned sharply to Frodo. She grabbed his hand and held it with both of hers. The Ring reached for her, taking some of its attention from Frodo. Frodo's Morgul stab heated at her nearness.

"It's fine, Frodo," she muttered, more trying to convince herself.

The Nazgul swept overhead on a dark gray dragon. Sev's ears flattened.

"Black ones on wings!" Smeagol shrieked. Sev buried Frodo's hand against her neck. Her warmth channeled through his arm and up to his shoulder. He relaxed slightly, but the burning of the Ring did not fade until the Nazgul departed.

Smeagol reached forward to the hobbits. "Come, hobbitses," he hissed. "The Black Gate is very close."


	30. Cursed Avalanche of Unhelpful Rock

**Sorry it's so short, but it made the most sense for a chapter ending in a while. :P Thank you all again for following and favoriting and reading. I know you'd probably like chocolate or money or gifts more than a thank you, but this is the most I can do. :D**

Sev dragged Frodo to his feet, and she let him rest on her shoulder as they walked out of the marshes. He limped behind her, the Morgul sting trickling through his whole nervous system with dark chill. Her presence warmed him until she had to leave him to climb up a cliff Smeagol led them to. Frodo didn't realize they were climbing up until she glanced at him skeptically.

"Frodo, come. The Black Gate is just over the rise," she said gently. Her foot nudged his shoulder gently, and he snapped out of the Ring's pull for a moment or two to follow her up. He was glad to go second . . . and Sev regretted going first. She cringed; she wished she couldn't have the opportunity to fall on him. Her anxiety almost caused her to slip, and she tensely dragged herself over the rise above them. When she turned she gave Frodo a hand over the edge.

Frodo's heart sank as he surveyed the Black Gate . . . and yet something within him was ready to be done with this.

Sev cocked her head. The architecture somehow attracted her. It was sharp and black, spiny and cold like every moment she lived. She shivered. Mordor wanted her.

Mordor appealed to her somehow, in a horrible way she feared.

 _Your blood could be effective._

Sev's eyes widened.

 _You could be mine. You could be the Queen of the world you thought would kill you._

Sev stared at the Ring, and her eyes widened. Then they narrowed. Her eyes burned, and her scar flared.

 _Frodo has come to destroy you,_ she muttered. _Don't tempt me. I won't hurt him, not even for you._

"We can't get through unseen," she said quietly, still eyeing the Ring.

Then a loud chant—spoken in the language of Mordor—sent dark chills up through Sev's spine. She cringed, as though fingers raced up her back, tempting her to turn around and face whomever wanted her to join them.

She glanced back at Frodo. The Ring pulled to her, beckoned with sly desire. She shook her head and turned back. Her eyes widened as a horn blew in the distance—the Black Gate began to creak open.

Frodo had looked at Smeagol, not picking up on the gate opening just ahead of him. She shook his shoulder.

"Frodo, look!"

Frodo's eyes snapped up, and he stared at the gate a little disbelievingly. Sev crept almost excitedly up to the side of the hill, anxious to be rid of this burden now begging her to take Sauron's power for herself. She glanced down the hill, and spotted a relatively smooth path down the steep slope and between larger rocks.

"Frodo, there's a way down," she whispered. She backed away to step down . . . but then her foot caught on a sharp rock. She jolted suddenly, and Frodo reached for her. He could not catch her in time.

"Sev!" He leaped up after her despite Smeagol's fearful protests.

Sev rolled uncontrollably down the slope, gathering stones as she went. Her feet dug deep into the mountainside to slow herself, but a rockslide from above—subsequent of her fall—buried her at the base of the hill. A flood of dust entered her lungs; she strained not to cough. Only one of her arms remained above the surface of rock, and huge swathes of her hair were trapped between heavy stones.

Frodo slid down the hill, dust flying in his wake. He caught the gaze of two soldiers from the ranks entering Mordor, and he cringed while he ducked behind a nearby rock. They turned their gaze long enough for him to leap and skid the rest of the way down to Sev. She heard him and turned. She had seen the soldiers as well.

"No! Frodo," she hissed, "get into Mordor! I'm fine."

Frodo didn't even acknowledge her protest. He scrambled to dig her out of the rocks; those two soldiers were marching towards them rather quickly. Frodo dug through the stones, locating by warmth her other arm. He dragged her towards the surface, locking his arms together around her torso. But she was stuck solidly. She kicked at the stone caging her, but her legs were thoroughly trapped.

Heat rose to Frodo's face as he considered the one insane alternative he had left. He inhaled, closed his eyes, and shoved Sev back into the ground. She stared up at him, surprised, during the two seconds it took Frodo to wrap himself close to her shoulders and spread his cloak over both of them.

Sev's eyes widened. Two pairs of metal-shod feet approached the cloak. Frodo tightened around Sev, and her pulse thudded. His heart beat wildly through his jaw against her neck as he held her closer. Fear bubbled in the air around them.

The guards could see nothing but what resembled a rock before them. They turned, after glancing about for a long moment. The guards turned back after finding nothing. Frodo waited a little longer than necessary . . . until he realized that the Ring had to be destroyed as immediately as could happen. He yanked back from Sev and hugged her tightly, dragging her out of the pile of stones. She grabbed his shoulders to get up. Frodo spun and faced the Black Gate; most of the army had already entered.

"I don't ask you to come with me, Sev."

Sev bit back a despairing response before she stopped herself, hoped he didn't mean she was unpleasant. He couldn't mean that; it wouldn't make sense. "But you would like me to," she clarified.

Sev might have let him go alone if he hadn't looked so torn. He glanced back at the Gate and breathed deeply. The Ring pulled for Mordor . . . not for its own destruction, but Frodo knew why he would go in.

"Now!" Frodo and Sev leaped, only to be yanked back into the rocks by Smeagol.

Sev protested, and Frodo questioned him openly. Almost the entire army had marched through the Gate now.

"Don't take it back to him!" Smeagol pleaded. "He wants the Precious . . ." He crawled ahead of Frodo. "And the Precious wants him!" His eyes narrowed. "But we mustn't let him have it."

The horn of the Gate blew again, and the door began to close. Frodo leaped away from Smeagol. Before Sev could pull the creature off of Frodo, he had him tackled back to the rocks. He looked to Frodo with pleading desperation.

"No! They will see you!" Smeagol wailed. He grasped Frodo's sleeve. "There is a secret way; a dark way!"

Frodo's brow narrowed. "Are you saying there's another way into Mordor?"

Sev sat back, defeated. "Smeagol, why didn't you bring this up earlier?" she managed.

"Because Master did not ask! He told us to show him the way to the Black Gate, so good Smeagol did!"

Frodo breathed hard. His burden sank into his neck; he'd have to carry it that much longer now. "I did," he exhaled. He glanced back at the Gate, creaking shut. They probably wouldn't make it in time. Smeagol pawed at Frodo's arm, but the hobbit hardly noticed. Sev glared hard.

 _Don't touch him_ , she thought darkly.

Frodo glanced down at Smeagol. "He's led us this far, Sev. He's been true to his word."

"Frodo, no," Sev said quietly. The Gate would open again soon, she was fairly sure. She didn't want him to get hurt, and Smeagol was the most immediate threat they could get rid of sooner than the Ring.

Frodo turned back to Smeagol. "There's no other way!" Smeagol pleaded.

Frodo nodded. "Lead the way, Smeagol."

The creature looked almost astonished as he backed away from Frodo. "Good Smeagol always helps," he breathed. Suspicion ached in Sev's head, and she stared at Frodo for a long moment.

He extended a hand to her and brought her to her feet.

"Frodo, I don't trust him," she warned.

Frodo shrugged. "Why not?" The creature had done everything for them. He turned and followed Smeagol back up the stairs. Sev turned to the Gate for answers, but it slammed shut, forcing her to turn and follow Smeagol.


	31. It's My Task - Mine, My Own!

The journey continued in silence. Frodo tried to speak to Sev a few times, but the hurt way she looked at him—no matter how peppy her verbal response—discouraged him. The Ring shoved against his resolve, although he thought it was only his own mind speaking to him.

 _She's upset with you. But you're doing your best, so leave her alone. Just close off for a while._

That allowed the Ring a mental outlet, and it crept inside. It would take care of Sev when it was finished with Frodo. Frodo was strong, but the Ring had found cracks, breaches in the shield of this little hobbit.

And Sev was the biggest one.

Sometimes her presence hindered the Ring's progress, but for the time being it would help the darkness, allow the Ring to gain the ground it had lost for fighting for her psyche.

Frodo felt no change in his mood until much later, when darkness wormed with slimy fingers into the corners of his mind. He felt muddled as he walked along after Smeagol.

The creature dove into a nearby stream, scrambling after a fish over the rocks. Sev saw his sudden movement and almost thought he was running out on them. She didn't even get a word out of her mouth—calling after him—before she made a realization and halted.

But Frodo caught it. He grabbed her shoulder, and they both stopped immediately.

"Why do you do that?"

The bare harshness in Frodo's voice set Sev on edge, and she cringed under his stark gaze. "What? Correct my mistakes when I make them?" She bit her tongue; _curses, Sev, can't you just take a rebuke from him?_

"Distrust him, downplay him all the time," Frodo clarified, patience thinning under the pressure of the Ring. He didn't feel anger at Sev so much as just a dark force all around him. His consciousness muddled, and the Ring slipped in a little. Frodo wrestled with it inside, shoving the dark influence back as much as he could.

Sev lifted an eyebrow. "Because you trust him too much, Frodo," she said finally. His fingers tightened around her arm, and she winced. She feared him more than he knew. "The Ring has destroyed him, and I won't see the same happen to you. Or worse."

"You don't know what it did to him . . . what it's still doing to him," Frodo said, walking past her. He eyed the creature. He could feel the Ring turning him into that. "I have to help him, Sev."

"You can try, but Frodo, what can you do for him? You said the Ring is still impacting him. What if he can't come back?"

That snapped him. Fear sparked in Frodo's heart, but that set the whole keg of powder off, the powder the Ring had been stacking for a while. Frodo spun sharply. "What do you know about it? Nothing!"

Sev gawked at him for a moment. She'd never seen him do something like that. She turned almost to run away.

The Ring reached out for her, fleetingly leaving Frodo to his own mindset. He shook his head clear of the dark influence, if only for a second. "I'm sorry, Sev," he said, reaching for her. He caught her arm again, but something had changed in him. She glanced back at him skeptically. "I don't know why I said that."

Sev paused. "I think I do," she said slowly.

He bit his lip. "I'm just afraid."

She sighed, relaxing in his grip. "I am too," she admitted. "But Frodo, that Ring is getting to you. I can feel it." Frodo pulled back suddenly. Sev knew she ought not to keep going, but she had to lay it out. She advanced on him, and he backed away. "You don't eat, you used to sleep well. Frodo, that's not healthy; I've been there, too despairing to do what's necessary." She sighed. "That, and you can't take your eyes off the thing. I just want you to be all right."

The Ring shoved on Frodo, and he stepped forward abruptly, dangerously nearing Sev's face. She held her ground, only just barely. "I know what I have to do, Sev," Frodo hissed. Her ears flattened in terror as his voice escalated. His eyes burned with a fire that did not belong to him. "The Ring was entrusted to me. It's my task. Mine, my own!" He shoved past her, walking briskly after Smeagol.

Sev stared after him, feeling broken. "Can't you hear yourself, Frodo?" she pleaded. "Can't you see what's happened to you?"

Frodo shook his head. He did not turn.

Sev bit her mouth shut, hard until she could taste her blood. Her head bowed, and her fists tightened at her sides as she continued after Frodo. _Willation, I've lost him._ She begged, pleaded, as she contained her sorrow. _I can't lose him. He's everything to me. What more can I do for him?_

They did not speak for the remainder of the day. When they settled down to sleep, Frodo curled up and stroked the Ring, not caring if Sev watched him. He felt a little apprehensive about it, but after that exchange he didn't want anything to do with her. Just Frodo and his Precious. He fell asleep, finally, with the Ring clutched in his closed fingers.

Smeagol went off some time before he fell asleep. Sev sat behind him, waiting for him to say something. But he never did. She gathered he might never again. She bit her lip, still trying to cage her emotion. She spun around and clambered into a nearby tree. She couldn't take it.

"Willation, what more could I have done?" she pleaded, a whimper rising in her voice. "I can't carry it." She buried her face in her knees, sobbing. "Please let me have the strength to carry it. He can't anymore. He's done enough, and he's breaking. Please don't make him keep going."

Soon her tears brought her beyond words. She stilled when she heard Smeagol . . . talking to himself. She heard a little argumentation, but her heart caught when he refused his darker self, insisting that "Master looks after us now." She couldn't but cry longer when she realized Smeagol had placed his hopes in a creature now ruled by the darkness, and the tragedy of Frodo's fall. Smeagol rejoiced at the loss of his darker side.

Sev bit her tongue, waiting until the creature lay down, exhausted. He kicked in his sleep. "He's gone, Precious, he's gone . . ."

Sev wrapped hard in her cloak. _He is gone_ , she thought mournfully. Every time she looked over at Frodo's hunched form, her heart shattered. He'd given up. The Ring had great sway now.

Frodo's head shot up, and Sev hissed as she backed into the trees. Her bloodshot eyes glared at the Ring in Frodo's hand.

"Sev?" Frodo whispered. He could hear her, but he couldn't see her. He turned his gaze all around. He wanted to apologize for what had happened earlier; it simply wasn't him speaking to her. He sighed and settled, defeated. "I'm sorry, Sev." He'd been stroking the Ring, too; that wasn't him either. He finally gave up and rolled into his cloak, throwing the Ring back into his shirt with a stroke of bitterness. He'd frightened her away.

He could only hope she would be back in the morning.

Sev sighed shakily. More tears wished to flow, but she did not want them. For a moment, Frodo had spoken to her. She missed him so much, the friendship she had grown to crave for 13 years.

Frodo shivered as a chill pierced the air. His feet trembled the worst, but try as he might, he could not manage to bring his feet into reach of his cloak. Exhaustion blocked any greater effort he might have managed.

Sev chuckled to herself, throwing her tears off. Frodo's futile effort looked ridiculous, but she could help, and therefore felt justified in laughing at him. She stepped softly down to him and laid her cloak over his feet. Frodo settled immediately as warmth spread up through his body from his feet.

Sev cocked her head. Frodo had never changed. Leastwise, not at the very core of his being. And he never would. She anticipated that, loved that. She loved everything she saw. Sev reverently let her fingers flow over his arm, as though stroking the wing of a large, sleek bird. If the Ring broke his ability to fly—

Her resolve crumbled at the thought. He truly could fly, regarding his emotional ability as pertaining to his old life in the Shire. He'd always had so much light to him.

Frodo tingled with warmth as Sev pulled him into her arms. He breathed easier against her shoulders, and he rested his head on her neck. She didn't care if it helped him sleep at this point so much as she just wanted to know he was still all right. She didn't know why he hadn't awakened. Her hand rested on his cheek, stroking gently. She pulled away slightly and surveyed him; her fingers traveled over his features. She knew them all by sight: the curve of the bone under his eye, the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw.

The hobbit could hardly stay still; it was a wonder she didn't notice him straining to lie there. His will strained against his reaction, against all the love for her he had that had been accumulating within for years. He forced himself not to reach up and frame her gentle face in his hands, not to kiss her, not to tell her how much or why he loved her. He fell asleep there; the fight against himself was exhausting, from battling the Ring to battling his own affection.

 _I would have married him. If he'd ever wanted me, I would have._ Sev's eyes closed. He was only 33, but they'd known each other for so long. She wished she could have married him. They would have spent more time together . . . she might have kissed him a few times by now. He could be all hers. She could comfort him better, have the confidence to tell him or feel him in any way possible to quell the Ring's power over him now.

Sev jolted barely when she realized she had lifted him close, and their lips had touched, so barely she couldn't recall what it was like the next day. Frodo was not awake, but the soft brush of his lips still shocked her. She sighed; she resented her impulse, although technically speaking she had not kissed him. Then she cocked her head. She fingered his lips just slightly, feeling a little queasy, wondering if he would be accepting if he knew. She slowly laid him back down—she could see his chest rising and falling slowly. At least he had fallen asleep.

"Rest well, my friend." She backed away against the rocks.

The next morning she said nothing. Frodo awakened before she knew, and he felt his lips somewhat uncertainly. He'd dreamed about the Ring last night . . . but felt as though he should have seen himself kissing her based on how he felt now. Or, at least, what he thought he felt now.

Sev helped him to his feet, and he suddenly remembered that she'd kept him warm that night. He wondered when she would have left. He didn't recall feeling the warmth fade away. The road was silent, for Frodo did not know what to say, and the next thing on Sev's tongue was a confession that she had tried to kiss him—as well as a hope that he would let her as soon as possible. Or that he would kiss her first; it mattered not to her. That gentility she did not recall the feeling of, but she remembered nothing else had gotten so close to what felt right in a long time.

Smeagol approached Frodo excitedly sometime during the morning, begging to go look for food. Frodo looked to Sev, hoping she would be against stalling, but she actually condoned what the creature requested. After the night before, she felt a little more pity towards Smeagol. Besides, Frodo needed more rest.

"Go on, Smeagol," Frodo said gently, although he was exhausted. Sev frowned at the dark circles under his eyes. If he had stayed asleep that morning, she would have let him rest the whole time.

"Frodo, are you all right?"

She hesitated, and Frodo stiffened. They were the first words between the two since Frodo's outburst the day before, and somehow both had noticed the sudden absence of interaction.

Frodo nodded, but his eyes flickered open and shut.

She put an arm around his shoulders, and he leaned into her side. She blinked at the sudden movement. "Like I believe you, you liar." She ruffled his hair, and a wistful grin stole across his face. She sat him down against the rock nearby and didn't leave his side.

Frodo could swear he knew what their lips just touching felt like. He decided that, had the notion he felt now been left to his imagination alone, he would have delved deeper—would have kissed her with everything he had. It didn't even feel like a kiss, just a simple, accidental touch. Likely she wouldn't tell him if she had done anything or gotten close to it, but it was worth a shot.

"Sev," he muttered.

She glanced up and sprang right down to his side.

He turned his gaze to her, and she felt her heart catch at the flicker of his blue eyes. Not because they were blue, but because they were familiar.

"Where were you last night?"

Sev let her jaw hang open for a second. She wanted to tell him what she'd done, but she couldn't. She absently brushed the shoulders of his cloak to keep her mind off of taking him by the shirt collar and kissing him soundly. Now was not the time.

She searched for words. "Just up in the tree. Watching out, if you will."

Frodo's anticipation grew skeptical. "For Smeagol?"

"No." Sev paused and backed down; Smeagol had been through enough. "I think he's all right."

Speaking of the creature, he sprang into view with a burden hanging out of his mouth. He abruptly dropped it in Frodo's lap, and the hobbit jolted awake. Sev's eyes widened when she realized it was a pair of corpses, rabbits or conies or some such.

"Look what Smeagol finds!" Smeagol cackled, racing around in circles. Frodo stared at him, exhausted but proud of him. He glanced up at Sev—she smiled somewhat, now convinced Smeagol might have some good left in him somewhere. But somehow she could not condone letting Frodo be taken by the Ring and becoming like Smeagol.

"Eat, eat!" Smeagol chanted. He grabbed one of the corpses and dug in; the shock evident on Frodo's face convinced Sev to leave Smeagol to what he would. The creature was busy enough not to notice. She lifted Frodo to his feet and grabbed the spare rabbit by the neck.

She set up and started a fire in silence. She didn't know what to say, and wondered why she had let them go through the argument they had yesterday. She never felt bitter, but didn't like losing him for so long. Frodo could think of nothing but watching her, not really even considering yesterday.

She had a knife, but she wouldn't be able to skin very well, having no idea how to do it. Frodo knew this, and guided her—tired as he was—through the process. He might have done it from a distance, but he was muddled enough not to care what she thought of him. He laid his hands over her own and moved with her. Her face turned dark gray as his head rested exhaustedly on her shoulder.

"Frodo . . ." She stopped. She couldn't tell him about last night; that was insanity.

He glanced up at her. Whatever she meant to say sounded curiously like a confession, although only one word had come out. His nose touched her ear.

Sev resisted turning to him. She hurriedly set the discarded skin aside and began wrapping the meat in large leaves. Frodo set to doing the same, and allowed his hands to brush hers periodically. Warmth trickled up his arm.

"Yes?" Frodo prompted after she said nothing for a while.

Sev paused. "Do you suppose this method would work?" she blurted finally.

Frodo was now thoroughly confused. "What method? What for?"

She nodded at the rabbit chunks now scattered through the core of the fire she'd built. "You and Sam are the food experts. Are they going to taste all right?"

Frodo grabbed her hand and squeezed it; she stared up at him. "I'm sure it'll be fine." Frodo didn't even hear his own words for the Ring weighing down hard on him. But as he touched her hand, her presence trickled in the way of the Ring. He felt the burden leaving him, and he laid an arm about her shoulders. He couldn't have her enough.

 _What a transition from yesterday_ , she thought somewhat apprehensively.

"The salt?" she suggested, although by some miracle she wanted to have him there just as much as he wanted to be there. Her fingers tapped against the back of his hand, and she carefully leaned into his side.

Frodo nodded. "That would certainly help anything you couldn't." His thumb idly brushed across her knuckles; the one against her shoulder did the same where it lay.

It took both of them a minute to snap out of whatever paralysis had trapped them. Sev produced the box of salt and pulled a couple of the rabbit pieces from the fire. As they ate, Smeagol approached them. He wailed angrily when he saw the food.

"No! She ruins it!" He eyed her lividly. "Foolish she-hobbit."

"It's not as if Frodo would eat them raw," she retorted. She was happy to see Frodo actually eating something, but she worried that might change. Her worry almost outran her excitement.

Smeagol crept up to her side. "Give it to _us_ raw, then." He licked his lips. "Nice fish . . . raw, and wriggling!"

Sev didn't know where to take the issue from there—fairly determined to let it drop—until she heard a whistling. It sounded like some strange, guttural bird. She abruptly stood, absently stamping out the fire as she glanced around. Frodo watched her.

"Sev?"

She turned in a circle, then began walking in the direction of the sound. Frodo pursued her and caught his pack as she followed. He wondered what could be so intriguing to her that she would abandon everything.

Sev never could have explained it. Something in her system sat so wrong, she couldn't stay still. Even as Frodo called after her, she didn't hear him. She slipped through the forest, slinking until she found a small rise. She shimmied up the side of the slope and stared down. Men sifted through the forest in clanging ranks.

Frodo sidled up next to her and stared down; Smeagol came out to Frodo's other side.

"Who are they?" Sev asked, apprehension churning deep within her.

"The armies of Sauron," Smeagol hissed. "Wicked, evil men. He is gathering all armies to him. He is almost ready."

Frodo furrowed his brow. "Ready for what?"

"His great war," Smeagol breathed.

And a great war meant the end of Middle Earth. Sev's gaze shot to the Ring at Frodo's neck. "We'd better get rid of that Ring, then," she said worriedly. She backed away and watched Frodo as he surveyed the army. She laid a hand on his shoulder; he looked up at her. She thought he looked a little worn out.

"Frodo, I can't do everything," she said, "but I can sure as Gondor try."

Frodo smiled somewhat. Sev realized the dark glaze over his eyes had grown stronger, or what she could have considered a dark glaze. It wasn't quite that solid, but she could tell it was there.

A pair of oliphaunts marched into view, catching the attention of the hobbits fleetingly . . . but then the whistling started again. Sev froze, and Frodo's gaze shot from one direction to another. Smeagol slinked away—warning bells sounded in Sev's ears. "Frodo, come on; we've got to get out of here."

Hisses and shouts filled the air. Sev turned again to the ground below, where the entire army of Mordor fell to arrows. The oliphaunts bucked and stamped, frightened by the sudden disorder. As one barreled straight for Frodo, Sev grabbed him and ran back. She turned to run with him as the oliphaunt crashed to the ground.

"Frodo!" But an arrow caught her sleeve, locking her to the tree behind her. She cried out from shock, but Frodo thought it had pierced her. He scrambled to break the arrow out of her arm, but it had lodged in the tree.

"Catch up to Smeagol; I'll be fine!" Sev's shout came in a frenzy.

Frodo finally broke the arrow loose, but the moment he did a pair of hands clamped on his shoulders and threw him back.

"Oi!" Sev drew her sword and her Assassin's dagger. She threw the latter, which caught the man's sleeve. Had it broken his skin it would have killed him, so Sev didn't throw it there. It startled him long enough for Frodo to break away. Another man grabbed Sev by the waist, and she swung her sword. The archer easily stole the sword from her grasp and wrapped her hard with one arm.

Frodo slammed into the man's side with his shoulder, but was taken by another before he could do anything more. One of the archers picked up Sev's dagger and eyed it with disgust.

"Don't hurt her," Frodo insisted as the man holding her brought back a fist to hit her. The man hesitated, and Sev halted at Frodo's voice.

"We are but travelers," Sev said, suddenly frightened . . . although her possession of weapons and sudden transition from aggressive to submissive would likely convince no one.

"There are no travelers in this country." The archer who spoke fingered Sev's dagger before stepping past her. "Only servants of the Dark Lord."

"We are sworn to an errand of secrecy," Frodo said, quite out of desperation, "and anyone who claims to oppose the enemy would do well not to hinder us."

 _I couldn't have said it better myself_ , Sev thought hopefully, but the archer would not submit.

He approached one of the men he shot. He spoke quietly about how the man had also claimed to oppose the enemy, but had found himself on the wrong side of the war. Sev cringed, looking away; her pains begged her to restore the man to life. But with a sword at her side and a dagger hidden in her cloak, she would only kill him again if she tried.

The leader turned back to them. "This war will make corpses of us all." He glanced fleetingly at his guards. "Bind their hands."

Sev scrambled against her captor, trying to call out for Frodo. The latter could not resist as his face and hands were bound tightly, and they were dragged away.


	32. These Tears We Cry

Sev wouldn't let go of Frodo's safety without a fight, but she wasn't open enough now to do more than periodically stomp on her captor's toe. He cursed under his breath from time to time, and Frodo snickered slightly.

"Cursed halfling," the guard muttered as he set her down in a cold, stone cavern. They set Frodo down next to her, and the blindfolds came off. A couple of other soldiers obligingly untied the ropes on the halflings' wrists, and Sev nodded in gratitude. Sev's blood quickly healed the ache in her skin, but Frodo rubbed his. There were dark red indents cutting his flesh. Sev peered down at them questioningly.

"You all right?" She grabbed his wrists and gently traced the marks. His eyes flickered as her warmth mended the pressure on him. He nodded, and she pulled away. She squeezed his hand before she folded into herself.

He shivered at the onslaught of cold. "Are you?"

She nodded, although she wanted rather badly to find their captors and beat the living daylights out of them. If they let Frodo go she would back off; he could make it to Mordor if she could at least get him out of there.

 _He could use the Ring._

She stiffened. No; the Ring would take him.

And thus began a long, intermittent, internal debate about whether or not the Ring could get Frodo safely out of the caverns.

The archer's leader was named Faramir, or so they were told. He stepped inside. "My men tell me that you are spies."

"Spies!" Sev gawked at him. "Now hold on a second."

"Well, if you aren't spies, then what are you?" Faramir asked.

Sev looked to Frodo. It was not her place to say. Frodo was the Ringbearer, and she would probably say something horribly snarky or rude . . . unintentionally, although the bite could taste satisfactory in her mouth.

"We are hobbits of the Shire," Frodo said. He decided to tell as much truth as he could. "Frodo Baggins is my name, and this is Seville of Bag End."

Sev swelled just slightly with a little wistful pride; she had a home.

"Your bodyguard?"

"Lawn gnome," she shot back.

Simultaneously, Frodo said, "My closest companion."

Sev's eyes widened, but Frodo was completely oblivious. It was entirely the truth to him. She sidled closer to him subsequently.

"And where is the other?" Faramir asked carefully. Frodo's heart thudded; if they knew about Smeagol, they would find him and kill him. Or get information Frodo didn't want shared. "The one with the sunken eyes, and the disagreeable countenance."

 _Harsh_ , Sev thought, until she realized that described Smeagol perfectly.

Frodo's eyes shifted as he slipped the lie out. "There was no other."

Sev glared at him hard, but he continued. "We set out from Rivendell with 8 companions." His voice lowered. "1 we lost in Moria. 3 were my kin. An Elf there was, and a dwarf also. And we traveled with two men: Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Boromir of Gondor."

At this, Faramir paused. "You were a friend of Boromir's?"

"Yes," Frodo said. "For my part."

"More we tried than anything," Sev interjected. Frodo shot her a look, but didn't press the issue.

Faramir inhaled somewhat shakily. "Then it would trouble you to know that he is dead."

Frodo gaped. "Dead?" He paused, rendered unable to say more. "How?"

Sev collapsed against Frodo's side. She felt almost ready to black out. Flashes of Boromir, shot with multiple arrows, flickered through her head. She couldn't block it. She could feel her desire to drain, knowing that she had seen him. Her eyes squeezed shut; she almost felt as though she could have helped him. To top that off, she had seen him change after Frodo ran away. Overwhelmed with guilt and sorrow, she sank on Frodo; she couldn't support herself.

"As his friends, I had hoped you would tell me," Faramir challenged.

Frodo was stunned at Sev's sudden silence. He squeezed her shoulders. "If anything has happened to Boromir we would have you tell us."

Faramir breathed deeply again. "His horn washed up on the riverbank, not three days past. It was cloven in two. Not only this, but I know it in my heart." He swallowed, then regarded Frodo as though he were caging sorrow. "He was my brother."

Sev only grew more incapable at this realization. Frodo sank with shock, held Sev close for the ability to do nothing more. Faramir gave them only a moment or two before his inner frustration and pain became too much.

"Direct them out of here," he said quietly. He spun to return to his own quarters in the cave.

Sev pulled away from Frodo while the soldiers marched them to a small alcove filled with food and other supplies. Frodo stood there in silence, saddened but not a fraction as distraught as Sev made herself. Her eyes flickered. Tears stung her face, hard as she tried to hold them back. She could see him, drained on the grass until one of the orcs kicked him and his horn into the river. She watched Gandalf fall again. She could see them now . . . the rest of the Fellowship, mangled and washed up on various riverbanks, or left in trees, or on the plains of Rohan.

Frodo tipped up her chin to look at him, trying to find what was bothering her so much. But he could see nothing.

Sev choked out her words. "Frodo . . ." She swallowed. "Boromir!" He embraced her, and her face fell into his neck. She shook her head repeatedly, swallowing back her pain as she gripped Frodo's cloak.

"Sev," he tried, "it is a sorrowful passing. But you told me there's nothing we can do for those that have fallen."

She shook her head harder. Frodo shifted, and she buried her face in his chest. He settled over her and wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders. Warmth flooded him, and the Ring backed away to her sway.

She couldn't have noticed less.

"What could have become of the others?"

She hadn't meant to say that out loud, but Frodo caught it. He felt he finally understood, and he rubbed the top of her head. "You told me we would see them again," he said gently. "And we may yet." He didn't think he could do more.

Sev nodded, biting it all back. She couldn't cry any more now; it was too much to ask of him as it was. She waited until she could pull away, and she nodded in thanks to him as she turned from his embrace. She stood there silently for a moment, allowing the last of her sorrow to drain away. A hard shell crusted over the sore wound of Boromir's death. She should have known it was coming.

She had never told Frodo of Boromir's apology.

As she sat there, pondering in a sorrowful stupor, Frodo had a sudden impulse to give her one last stroke of comfort, one he would sure could make them both feel better. Logic screamed at him, told him it would make no sense now. But he wanted to do it.

Sev turned to tell him what Boromir had said, but Frodo seized that as an opportunity. He leaned forward, cupped her face in both of his hands, and barely touched his lips to hers for only a moment.

It was so short Sev thought he had meant to kiss her cheek. Rationalizations of all sorts followed the sweet softness of his lips on hers: he meant to do something else. She had moved at the last second, in the way. He hadn't noticed, couldn't have known.

Frodo said nothing. They both blushed hard and backed away very slowly. Sev curled up in a nearby corner, and Frodo backed between two huge barrels. His lips were set tingling, wishing for her touch again. The Ring did not compare to the simplest of kisses, not when it was a real one. He wanted to have her kiss him back. He watched her as she curled hard in her corner and wondered when he would have the courage to do it again.

Never, he decided. It would take a long time before he could do it. Her lack of reaction confused him, and actually was a little discouraging. He realized he hadn't given her enough time . . . but would she not have pulled him into a stronger kiss?

Evidently not.

Despite that, Frodo wanted to be close to her. He covered the short distance between them and sat beside her. She moved to get up, but he admonished her to stay down. He piled his cloak up at his side and laid her head down on his lap. She gave him her own, laid it over his feet.

"I don't need it; I've got yours."

With warmth entering him close to his ribcage, Frodo easily fell asleep, although sitting up. He laid his hand on her shoulder as she settled into sleep as well.

Faramir awakened them simply by walking in. Sev sat upright and growled, although still a little disoriented. Frodo's eyes flickered open.

"Come, Frodo," Faramir said. Frodo stood and offered a hand to Sev, but before she could even take it Faramir interjected. "Leave your . . ." He paused. "Companion."

Frodo turned back to him. Something within—the Ring along with something else—persisted that Sev come. "Sev comes with me," he insisted. He didn't wait for Faramir's reaction; Sev simply gawked slightly.

Faramir sighed. "I gathered a woman ought not to see this."

Sev's gaze hardened. "Faramir, what happened?"

Faramir directed them out of the cave and to the end of a long drop-off. Sev peered down at the waterfall and pool below, gripping Frodo's arm as lightly as she could. Frodo reassuringly patted her hand; she wouldn't fall, he knew.

Then Faramir pointed down. Frodo followed his finger, and he stepped carefully over to the edge. Sev did not follow. He watched as Smeagol disappeared into the water below, and he realized exactly what that meant regarding Faramir in that moment.

"The punishment for entering the Forbidden Pool is death," Faramir said. Sev lifted an eyebrow; she didn't understand. Frodo looked distraught, and she wondered what Faramir could possibly be doing to him. "My men await my command."

Frodo stared in horror at the archers surrounding them, arrows poised down at the water.

Sev didn't quite perceive what they were doing until Smeagol surfaced and began to sing. He slapped his fish against the rock below to quiet it. Sev's jaw dropped; she stared hopelessly at Frodo as Smeagol concluded his song.

The hobbit stared down at Smeagol, frozen by the prospect of what he had done, of what would happen to Smeagol. Perhaps the creature deserved to die . . . but even if he had once, he'd changed.

Sev reached forward as Faramir raised his hand to signal his archers. She grabbed the man's arm. "Wait."

Frodo snapped out of his paralysis, but did not tear his eyes from Smeagol. "This creature is bound to me," he said, "and I to him." He glanced up at Faramir. "Please. Let me go down to him."

Faramir nodded, ostensibly satisfied. Sev eyed him as she and Frodo descended the rocky path to the water's edge.

"Smeagol!" Frodo called out. "Smeagol, Master is here!"

The creature glanced up from his meal.

"Smeagol, you must come. Come, Smeagol; come to Master!" Frodo coaxed. Sev could not but sit back and watch.

Smeagol hesitated. "We must . . . go now?"

"Smeagol," Frodo persisted, "you must trust Master."

He could only hope that the men would leave Smeagol alone if he seemed obedient and tame. The creature stuffed his fish in his mouth and followed Frodo. The hobbit found he could breathe more easily once Smeagol had left the water.

"Nice Smeagol," Frodo coaxed.

Sev's head shot up when she heard a twig snap, and one of Faramir's men suddenly grabbed Smeagol by the neck. The creature writhed and shrieked. Men surrounded the group.

"Don't hurt him!" Frodo cried.

Smeagol wailed in response. "Master . . .!"

Sev leaped forward, but was grabbed before she could even unsheathe her sword (or her poisoned dagger, which she'd taken off her guard). She writhed as well, fighting to get to Smeagol.

"Don't struggle," Frodo said, talking to Sev just as much to Smeagol.

"Master!" Smeagol wailed again. He was stuffed in a sack and taken away. He continued to squirm in the grasp of the man that carried him away. Sev stopped resisting and was set down before she and Frodo reluctantly followed their guards back to the cavern where they rested.

 **So I finished writing this story yesterday; the flow of chapters uploaded should be consistent. :) And no, that doesn't entirely count as their first kiss, because she thought it was an accident. XD Thank you all for coming thus far. I will have another chapter up soon.**


	33. There's Good Worth Fighting For

Sev could hear Smeagol's screams below them. She cringed every time his voice rang out about the stone. It didn't stop for a long time, but when it finally halted she felt she could breathe again . . . somewhat. She still felt guilty; she thought she could do something back there.

But Frodo was right. They were too strong. Struggling only brought her and Frodo, and potentially Smeagol, to more harm.

Frodo sat down by her, but she wanted to be alone. She didn't unfold until she noticed how distraught he looked; he didn't feel so much guilty as sorrowful. He felt he couldn't have done more.

 _You shouldn't have lied_ , Sev thought. But she couldn't berate him out loud. He looked too tired, too hurt. She reached out and gathered him into her arms.

Finally her debate reached its end.

"Frodo, you can get out of here." He paused, unsure what she meant. "I know you don't have a guide, but Smeagol—," Sev didn't finish that statement. _Isn't coming back._ She continued after a long pause. "Go to Mordor. Use the Ring; turn invisible and escape! You can go!"

Frodo didn't react. He couldn't. He would succumb to the Ring's power if he put it on, much less if he left without her. Right now he felt secure, but Sev's arm lay across the Ring.

When Frodo didn't try to leave, Sev reached up and pressed her cheek against his own. Soft warmth flooded Frodo and brushed his face gently. "Just this once," Sev persisted. "Just this once."

Frodo shook his head, but as he brought his hands up to lock her face in place against his own she backed away.

"Frodo," she insisted, certain this was the only way, "I'm begging you, get out of this place before something worse happens!"

Frodo's gaze flickered to the ground. "You were right, Sev." The grave solemnity in his voice frightened her. "The Ring has taken me. If I put it on . . . he will see." Then he turned back to her. She looked hurt. "I'm so sorry." But there was nothing more he could do. "And I won't leave you. You never left me."

Sev bit her lip. She rubbed his shoulder, spreading warmth throughout him, then let her hand to his face. Her thumb tenderly stroked his cheek.

"Because I don't want to lose you."

She wanted to say more, but she heard feet behind her. She abruptly stood, as did Frodo, when Faramir strode quickly into the room. He looked apprehensively triumphant, barely able to stand still.

"So," he began, "this is the answer to all the riddles." He stepped slowly up to Frodo, cornering him away from Sev. In response, she grabbed her sword and unsheathed it. Faramir shot her a look, but she dared not back down.

He turned his attention again to Frodo. He had his own blade drawn. Frodo backed away as Faramir neared him. "Two halflings in the wild . . . a host of men at my beck and call . . ." He lifted the tip to Frodo's chest, picking the Ring out of the fabric with the tip of his sword. "And the Ring of Power within my grasp."

Frodo's breathing grew rapid with the cold, sharp tip against his skin. The Ring, too, made him more urgent, calling upon him to save it from Faramir. Sev lifted her own sword to Faramir's; he hadn't tried to harm Frodo yet, but if he tried anything Sev would be on him. Something held her back, something she didn't understand. Perhaps she was afraid too much movement now would cause Faramir to attack for the Ring. Faramir eyed her carefully, but she did not move.

The Ring dragged Frodo into a dark anxiety. His fingers gripped the stone wall behind him, and his eyes sank closed. _Faramir wants the Ring. He cannot have it. He cannot take it from you. Do not let him have it. Frodo . . . Frodo . . ._

It became too much. The Ring was too afraid, and so was Frodo, subsequently. His eyes snapped open, and he glared at Faramir. "No!" He wrenched away from the sword, clutching the Ring. But the Ring hadn't planned that far ahead, and so Frodo collapsed to the floor. Sev fell with him; she allowed her sword to clatter away as she pulled the trembling hobbit into her arms. He breathed fiercely against her.

"Leave him alone!" she snapped. Faramir looked a little confused, so she continued. "He's going to destroy it. There's nothing it could do for you!" She choked back a sob as Frodo writhed in her grasp. Her fingers rubbed his shoulders protectively. Emotion cluttered up inside of her until she let it spill. "Do you know why your brother died?"

Now she had Faramir's attention. She continued, spewing everything.

"Boromir tried to take the Ring from Frodo. He was ambushed by orcs. He may have died nobly, but he did not have to meet the end he did." Frodo moaned; the world was spinning, even though Sev held it relatively still. Her warmth fought the Ring furiously. He breathed her name, stronger and stronger as he convulsed.

Sev embraced him harder, pleading with Faramir. "Please. It's hurting him. Let him go."

One of Faramir's men entered then. "They need reinforcements at Osgiliath," he muttered.

Faramir did not hesitate. "Prepare to leave." He turned back to Sev; he eyed Frodo somewhat uncertainly.

Frodo's world spun again. "Sev . . ."

Sev just about broke down then. "Faramir, please!"

Faramir just turned away, didn't even respond to her plight. Four men entered the room then. Sev held Frodo protectively, but she could do nothing for it. One of the men ripped Frodo from her grasp.

"Put him down!" She hissed loudly; the other three men quickly trapped her, tying her hands solidly behind her back. She scrambled back from them and cracked her foot down on the toes of one. He sucked in a breath, but none of them let go. She continued to struggle as they led her and Frodo down from the caves. "Frodo!"

The hobbit looked up at last, the savage gleam in his eyes long gone. He looked tired, broken. Sev's conviction set harder, and she glared periodically up at her captors. She nearly bit one of them in a flare of distraught furiosity. One of the men forced her head down, and she walked with her back hunched. His hand gripped her neck, forcing her to stay in place. She jerked against it from time to time . . .

Until Frodo gave her a pleading look. He knew struggling would do nothing, and he could see blood trickling from a few places along her arms, and bruises on her face. He didn't want her to keep fighting. It would do nothing.

Sev gave in to her captors, and they slowly released her, even from the bonds on her hands. She stood submissively, hoping Frodo knew this was best.

They walked for some time—Sev didn't care to track how long—before the clouds grew dark, and they could see a white city spanning a small river down across a huge plain from Mordor.

Frodo finally spoke, dread and pain filling him. Tears broke out of his eyes. "The Ring will not save Gondor," he said gravely. He turned back to face Faramir. "It only has the power to destroy."

Faramir regarded him somewhat uncertainly, and Frodo felt this would be the last chance he had.

"Please!" Frodo persisted. "Let me go."

Faramir might have . . . had the Ring not continued yanking hard on his resolve. He shook it off and pointed to Osgiliath. "Onward!"

Sev struggled again as Frodo cried out helplessly. "Faramir! You must let me go!" The soldier holding him continued to lead him down the hill, although he struggled as well. Sev whimpered a little bit; she felt perfectly useless. She shoved against the hands that kept her, but most of her strength was already gone. So was most of her hope.

She spotted Smeagol, led like a dog by a frail rope. Not Elvish rope, she assumed.

They descended the slope into Osgiliath. Smoke ascended from the city, and they entered the thick of a battle. Sev growled, straining to get to Frodo. They'd brought him here, to where orcs could shoot him or trample him, and she wouldn't stand for it. But she could do nothing.

The captain of Osgiliath approached them. Apparently they were losing this battle; Sev shot a glare at Faramir. Frodo said and did nothing; his eyes glazed over. The Ring sent his heart pounding in his ears. Something was wrong—he could hear the pulsing of a familiar shriek in the distance.

Faramir gestured to the guard holding Frodo, who threw the hobbit forward. Another guard on the other side caught him. "Give the halflings to my father," Faramir ordered proudly. "Tell him I've found the weapon that will turn the tide of this war."

Sev wrenched away from her guard and joined Frodo. No one tried to stop her, for which she was grateful. Then she heard a shriek in the distance . . . and noticed Frodo's dark, almost sadistic, expression as he stared up into the sky.

"Frodo?" She grabbed his arm, more afraid for what was happening to his head than anything. "Frodo, what's wrong?"

He spoke in a dark hiss. Sev cringed at the sound; how Frodo managed to hear her through the Ring's cloud, he didn't know. "They can feel it." His head cocked slowly. "They are coming."

Faramir's gaze shot to the sky. "Nazgul!" he cried. A huge dragon knocked into one of the tall spires of Osgiliath, and the stone crumbled. Sev grabbed Frodo and began running, but Faramir caught her by the cloak before she could go anywhere.

"Let go," she demanded. Frodo stood limp at her side, unable to move. He tugged slightly against Sev's hand; the burden could go away if he wanted to find the Nazgul and hand it over.

Faramir dragged them to a corner of ruins and shoved them down to the ground. "Stay here," he hissed before turning back to the battle.

Sev grabbed Frodo and held him. Desperate, the Ring shifted its attention to her. Frodo wasn't listening half as well as it had hoped. Suddenly its impact broke off of him for a moment, and he trembled with the sudden release.

"Sev, they can see it," he muttered; fear and naïve desire for nothing more than this all to end filled his voice. She held him harder as the Ring pressed her within.

"Frodo, stay with me." She didn't know what more she could say. "Stay with me; don't give up now."

Suddenly the Ring lurched; the Nazgul called for it. Frodo writhed in Sev's arms, and she wasn't strong enough to hold him. The Ring wrenched him away, through the thick of the battle. He walked slowly as the Ring gauged where the Nazgul would be.

"Frodo!" Sev leaped out after him, only to hide again behind the wall to avoid an arrow that leaped at her arm. She turned again and slammed into a man ahead of her. "Frodo! Frodo, no!"

Frodo slowly marched through the ongoing battle, completely unscathed. He found a staircase and mounted it ever so carefully. The Ring anticipated this moment, but somehow it couldn't make the hobbit move faster than he did. His resolve was still strong, even if the Ring had a great deal of sway relative to its dominance upon meeting Frodo.

Sev shoved past an orc that growled at her. She ducked away form his huge sword and raced after Frodo. "Frodo, come back!"

Frodo slowly stepped up on a high balcony. He could feel the Nazgul somewhere below . . .

The Ring seemed to inhale with relief and pleasure by his chest when the Nazgul's dragon appeared over the wall. The Ringwraith eyed Frodo, then directed his dragon even closer. Frodo felt a slight pleasure come to him as he lifted the One Ring up, as far away from his neck as it would go. He could be free of this pain.

"Frodo!" Sev glared at the dragon, then before its claws could close around the Ring she grabbed Frodo around the shoulders and wrested him off of the balcony. Frodo struggled enough that she could not simply back away. The Ring shrieked at him.

Sev rolled with him down the stairs, over the stone down to where the battle drew to a close near them. The Ring seared with a livid scream through Frodo's head, completely taking over. Sev pinned Frodo down . . . but he was stronger. He shoved her off of him, and with the energy packed into the Ring slammed Sev into the nearby wall. She cried out, grabbing at her bruised shoulder. Frodo leaped over and locked her to the ground with a single hand. She tried to scramble back. The savage glimmer in his eyes frightened her. And now that he'd hurt her in this state, she couldn't shake her terror.

Frodo cried out, unsheathing Sting. He held it to her throat, threats building up within.

The Ring sputtered inside of him.

 _Run her through! Demon! She is a demon! She threatened you; she threatened me!_ It screeched endlessly, waiting for her blood to spill where it could reach down and take it. But Frodo did not move. _Do it, now!_

Sev's eyes watered with fear and disappointment. Frodo had come so far.

"Frodo, it's Sev," she tried. The ache in her shoulder fought everything she felt for him. Something tried to convince her that there was no more light left in Frodo, that he could only hurt her from here on in. But she didn't really care. She couldn't abandon everything she knew of him either.

Frodo blinked. Why didn't he just kill her? She'd taken his peace from him, had taken the Ring from what it wanted. Why did she deserve to live?

"Don't you know your Sev?" she tried again. She swallowed as Frodo lifted the tip of the sword to her chin, nearly breaching the flesh. Her eyes slipped closed. She wanted it every bit as much as the Ring did, but she had something to live for right now. She couldn't go.

Frodo's vision cleared for a glimmer of a moment, and as the Ring took back over, he was confused. He relaxed the sword, trying to process. Why couldn't he kill her?

She fingered the sword out of the way, willing to try anything. She reached up, but could not get to his face—Sting's tip had lodged into her cloak and now sank into the ground. She lifted herself to the hand that held Sting and brushed her lips along Frodo's thumb. Her tears soaked into his skin as she kissed the back of his hand, begging him to let go. "I'm just your Sev," she managed.

Frodo's eyes widened suddenly. He broke away from her, and Sting crashed to the ground. He backed into the ruined wall. If he'd stabbed her, she would have drained onto the stone. The Ring would not have let her live.

"I'm so sorry . . ." Frodo could hardly believe what he had almost done. He was more apologizing to himself than to her; he wouldn't have forgiven himself. He stared into the distance, not willing to meet her gaze. "I can't do this, Sev."

Sev rubbed her neck. Tingles of apprehension made her hands and her neck slick still. Her shoulder throbbed angrily. "I know," she said, biting her lip. She scooted towards Frodo, but he backed away from her, afraid. She narrowed him into a corner. "If everything worked for fairness we would never have come."

Frodo glanced up at her fleetingly. Sev reached forward one last time and gathered Frodo into her arms. He laid his head on her heart, finally giving in. She swayed back and forth; he fell to the rhythm of it, not free of the Ring yet. Her warmth surrounded him, protected him.

"It's like in those books we read at home together," she said finally. "The ones you always told me were the best ones. Everything got dark and chaotic so fast . . . and sometimes I didn't want to read the end, because how could it be right or happy? How could I ever be satisfied with an ending to that story, when so much bad took place? I didn't believe you; I didn't want to read them." She nuzzled the top of his head with her jaw, buried a kiss in his hair, as she remembered the happiness and naivety that had been his back in the Shire. "But the darkness was only a fleeting shadow, only a moment compared to what happiness awaited the characters in the end." She held him tighter, rubbed her fingers up and down his arm. "You told me why those were your favorites; do you remember what you said to me? You said those characters . . . they had so many chances to turn around and go back home, leave the world to its fate, but you never wanted them to. You stuck with those characters because they were strong, Frodo, like you. And they didn't turn back because they were holding on to something."

Frodo sighed heavily in her arms. He didn't want to feel anything anymore; only more pain would come with it. "What are we holding on to, Sev?"

Sev grabbed his shoulders and stood him up, forcing him to face her. He looked away—she tipped his jaw up until his eyes met hers. His pain made her insanely obstinate.

"That there is some good left in this world, Frodo Baggins." Her eyes flooded with tears at the despair in his eyes and the tearing emotion in her heart. "And that it's worth fighting for."

The Ring tugged at her. She ignored it, but it took some weight from Frodo, enough that he reached up with one hand and thumbed the tears away from her eyes one at a time. He pulled her into a slow embrace, allowed her warmth to shield him.

Sev realized that she only had Frodo for so long, and didn't take the moment for granted. She squeezed him close until she heard footsteps around her. Then she pulled away from Frodo and glanced up at Faramir.

The soldier of Gondor knelt before Frodo. The hobbit eyed him, eyes pitiful and full of pain.

"I think we understand one another, Frodo Baggins," Faramir said at last.

Sev breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank you_.

The captain that had greeted them earlier approached Faramir. "Faramir, your father . . ." He paused when Faramir glanced up, and Sev glared at him. "If you release the halflings, your life may be forfeit."

Faramir turned back to Frodo. The hobbit could do nothing but plead further, begging the humanity in Faramir to let him go.

"Then my life is forfeit," Faramir said finally. Sev exhaled again. She reached forward, with permission from the soldiers, and untied Smeagol. The creature was surprisingly docile for his situation, and as she cut the bindings on his hands she feared what he might be thinking.

Suddenly a shower of rock spewed over the group of men. Sev tackled Frodo to the ground, shielding him from the smaller pieces that cracked against her shoulders. She tried not to press him hard when she buckled from the pain.

"Sev?"

Faramir interrupted them before Sev could explain anything, or try to keep Frodo from thinking her pained. He dragged them both to their feet; Sev winced, pressing her fingers along her waist and shoulders, where the worst of the bruises would soon appear. "Come. There's a safe way out of the city."

The warrior led them away. Frodo wrapped an arm around Sev's shoulders. She coughed from the impact as he dragged her along. He glanced down at her with concern, but as war waged around them he couldn't slow down. Smeagol limped along behind them.

Finally Faramir slowed near a tunnel. "This is the old sewer," he explained as Frodo led Sev into the tunnel. "It'll give you safe passage out of the city." Then he nodded to Frodo. "What is your road?"

Frodo turned to look at Smeagol. "Our guide tells us there is a path above Minas Morgul into Mordor."

Faramir frowned; Smeagol attempted to slink away. "Cirith Ungol," the soldier muttered. He spun and grabbed Smeagol's neck, slamming him up against the closest stone wall. "Is that its name?"

Smeagol shook his head innocently, but then Faramir squeezed. The creature wailed and howled. "Yes," he managed finally.

Faramir's gaze shot to Frodo. "Frodo, they say there is a dark terror that dwells in the caves of Cirith Ungol. You cannot go that way."

"Faramir, we have no choice," Sev started.

"Master said to show him the way into Mordor!" Smeagol protested, writhing in Faramir's grasp. "There is no other way!"

Frodo nodded in final affirmation. "We must."

Faramir reluctantly threw Smeagol aside. "Then farewell." He turned to Frodo. "May the goodwill of all men go with you."

Frodo lowered his head. "Thank you."

"Captain Faramir," Sev interjected. She extended a hand, and the man shook it. "You have shown your quality. We thank you."

Faramir smiled slightly. "The Shire must be a place of greatness, ma'am." He then ushered them through the tunnels. As they walked away, he grabbed Smeagol's throat and shoved him up against the stone again. The creature stiffened in his grasp and eyed him somewhat bitterly.

"If you bring them to harm, I will inflict worse upon you," he threatened under his breath. He threw Smeagol after them. The creature limped bitterly along the wall; he would get his revenge later.

Sev watched the little exchange, and as Frodo continued forward she turned back to Smeagol. She knelt down beside him. He glanced up at her skeptically.

"Smeagol, you know he was trying to protect you, right? That he saved you?"

Smeagol peered at her. "Saved us?"

She nodded. "They were going to shoot you. He only meant to protect you. He didn't mean for any of this to happen." She bent down to touch him, but she knew to heal him would be to get addicted. She hesitated; she could not take the wounds from him. Would he even let her? "No hard feelings, right?" she asked carefully.

Smeagol seemed a little confused for a moment. Then he shook his head wildly. "No, no hard feelings!" He got up and limped past her. "No hard feelings," he muttered, staring up at her a little hopefully.

Sev lifted an eyebrow. "That's rather decent of you," she said almost doubtfully. She had hoped she wouldn't even have to bring it up. Smeagol sounded so unsure, it worried her.

Once they left the tunnel, Smeagol dragged himself up ahead of the hobbits. He continued to limp, but his speed increased enough to keep both Frodo and Sev content with the pace. But as they walked along—after the atmosphere changed from that of Osgiliath to a dead forest path—Sev continued reflecting back on those books she'd brought up. She missed reading with Frodo in the woods of West Farthing. She couldn't wait for the day he was the main character in one of them; he had to be.

Did he want to be?

She timidly stepped up behind him. "What if you were ever the main character in a book, Frodo? Maybe just a song . . ."

He glanced back at her with a grin. "What?"

"It would just be strangely satisfying to hear people say, 'Let's hear about Frodo, and the Ring!'" Sev lowered her voice and thickened the accent. "'Oh, yes, that's one of my favorite stories.'" She lightened it again . . . and the words came out laced with sincerity. "'Frodo was really courageous, wasn't he, da?' 'Yes, my boy, the most famousest of hobbits! Which is sayin' a lot; they don't do anything.'"

Frodo laughed outright. "Well, you've left out one of the chief characters! Seville the Brilliant; I want to hear more about Sev!" Then he stopped altogether. His eyes flickered, and Sev almost asked him what was wrong. But then he turned to her. He knew what they would say about her . . . what was true in his own mind.

"Frodo wouldn't have gone far without Sev."

Sev was suddenly rendered speechless. A faint blush rose to her face; she shook it away. Frodo tried not to be amused, and it was only difficult until he remembered why he'd said what he did. "Now, Frodo," she said matter-of-factly, "you shouldn't be sarcastic. I was being serious."

Frodo's shoulders slumped slightly as he stepped forward. He cupped her soft face in his hands and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. It was not desperate, but a little wistful. He finally broke away; her blush, if anything, intensified.

"So was I," he said finally. Then he turned and continued walking as though he had done nothing.

Sev stood for a moment, able to do little more than blink. She shifted the pack over her shoulders and cursed her capability for nothing more sentimental than a little jocosity. "Sev the Brilliant," she mused aloud as she walked. Frodo grinned to himself.

But then he realized he had no idea where he was going.

"Smeagol?" he called out. "Smeagol, where are you?!"

They searched for a few minutes before they finally found him. He leaped out from behind a nearby tree and beckoned to them.

"Hurry, hobbitses! This way!" He chippered excitedly despite his continued limp. Sev thought again about healing him . . . but when Frodo's arm surrounded her shoulder she knew it wouldn't be necessary, not if she had Frodo healthy and safe by her side. Mount Doom flared in the distance, but while they were together the Ring could not overpower either of the halflings.


	34. Torn in Three or Four

**Not my favorite chapter, not the most exciting for those that remember the beginning of RotK . . . :P But that's all right, we'll get to the sappy parts eventually, assuming any of you read this story with the intent of reading kissing scenes.**

Smeagol had led them to a stone ruin, some sort of outcropping in the ground, to sleep in for the night. But Frodo got no sleep. He waited until he thought Sev was unconscious. He pulled the Ring from within the fabric of his shirt, turning it over and over in his hands. It glimmered innocently, but he felt like he was getting away with something.

Sev heard his breathing grow more ragged. Her eyes flickered open. He wouldn't notice her even if she stepped up to him. Chances were excellent that unless she touched the Ring he wouldn't react to anything else she did.

She sighed, hope dwindling quickly. She'd thought, the day before, that Frodo had come out of it, that they had won against the Ring. They were so close to Mordor; he couldn't give up yet.

Frodo heard some stones above him and quickly stuffed the Ring back into his pocket. Smeagol poked his head in with a hiss—it scared the living daylights out of Sev.

"Wake up, sleepies!" Smeagol seemed a little too perky for Sev's liking, but perhaps that was a good thing. "Mordor is near. We must hurry!"

Sev sat up slowly. Frodo didn't even think that she might have been awake that whole time until he realized she didn't look as muddled as one that had just barely woken up. She glared at him, and he shuddered under her harsh, cold gaze.

"You didn't sleep," she said, mildly accusatory.

He stared at her, suspicion building. The Ring convinced him that she was spying, that she couldn't be trusted. He shook it away, trying to tell himself that she was just curious and observant.

"How do you know?"

Sev shuffled through the pack at her side. She almost wanted to lecture him about it, wanted to logically lay out why he shouldn't so much as look at the Ring, or perhaps why she should carry it.

But she couldn't carry it.

"I don't sleep," she pointed out. "So be careful. Frodo, my work here is to watch you and my oath never to leave you. I will do what I am here for until you tell me to leave or forsake my oath." She inhaled slowly, then produced some lembas. "You probably need food, yes?"

Frodo paused. He didn't say anything before she cracked off a small square and handed it to him. He took it hesitantly; he didn't need to eat. Then he felt a grinding pain deep down in his stomach. Apparently he did need food. The smell of the bread and the dense crumbling against his fingers ignited his initial senses.

The mountain trembled, shaking the stone around them. Smeagol squawked and raced back into their tunnel. "Hurry, hobbits!"

"Not until Frodo's had something to eat," Sev shot back. Frodo timidly nibbled at the lembas.

Sev felt a swell of pride. At least he wouldn't starve to death. Whatever miracle had caused him to keep eating, she wanted it to stick around as long as possible.

Frodo's brow furrowed as he surveyed her. "What about you? Are you going to eat anything?"  
She shrugged. "I don't need food. Besides, we have just enough."

The hobbit cocked his head. "For what?"

Sev looked a little flustered, unsure why he would ask such a thing. "For the journey home," she said.

When Frodo didn't respond, she reached forward to help him up. But when she extended a hand, he eyed it. Then he turned his gaze to her. There was pain deep within his eyes. He grabbed her hand, but before she could pull him up, he brought her down to him. He pressed her hand against his chest, and the Ring's burn faded from within him ever so slightly.

Sev embraced him lightly, unsure what he wanted. He slumped against her shoulder until he realized the Ring wanted Sev as well, but he didn't want to let go. She pulled the burden from him.

Perhaps she could do that in other ways. Maybe someday. Perhaps she had.

She rubbed his shoulder, then the top of his head. His eyes slacked back, and he might have refused to move if she didn't lift herself from beneath the weight of his torso.

"We'd better get moving," she said. She extended a hand to him again, and he took it.

"Move, hobbitses!" Smeagol chided. "No place is safe here."

"Of course not," Sev said, not willing to feel chagrined just yet. "If it were safe I'd be perfectly useless."

Frodo sighed a little at that. Maybe if she felt useless she wouldn't have come. Then again, if it were safe it wouldn't have mattered. He wished he could have left her in Rivendell, or at least in Lorien. Galadriel would have taken care of her. He would sacrifice her warmth to keep her alive if necessary.

Before it faltered, Sev noticed that smile. She smiled too . . . and then remembered the lips of both smiles had met once. She bit her lip to keep herself from reaching out, from doing something she might regret. She'd already gotten too close, and it was impulsive to try and kiss him just because one or both might die any minute. A deep-set blush claimed her face; she trotted ahead of Frodo a small way so she wouldn't watch him.

He just shrugged, utterly baffled by her sudden behavior. But he couldn't have known unless she said it to his face, which might have set both of them slowly moving either away from or towards each other.

As they continued, Sev's mind began to wander. She didn't want to think about what was ahead of them, so she thought about what was behind. She wondered what Pippin, Merry, and Sam were doing. The days had been getting darker, and it actually looked like almost sunset now.

"Probably having tea in decent places," she muttered to herself. Then she snickered; she remembered the day when Rosie was so frustrated, she threw out all the ale in the Green Dragon and gave everybody tea instead. The whole place was quiet and civilized that night; even Pippin and Merry acted surprisingly proper, although still cracked some off-color jokes from time to time. The tavern only laughed for a few collective seconds before everyone was back sipping tea with their ankles crossed. Sev and Rosie had to go out back; both were in hysterics.

Smeagol turned back to her with a sadistic grin. "We're not in decent places."

Sev lifted an eyebrow. Of course Smeagol had to cut off any pleasant thoughts, but perhaps that was integrated into his character. Potentially by the Ring. Her eyes flickered closed.

Frodo paused. Not in decent places. Perhaps he would never be in decent places again. Sev had brought up going home that morning . . . but ever since, Frodo had been feeling horribly apprehensive. He didn't think he would go home. He felt he couldn't, not if he wanted to finish his quest.

Sev heard his footsteps slow. She turned back to him.

"Frodo?"

Frodo glanced up at her; his eyes were pained, and she subconsciously approached him. "Just a feeling," he said slowly. "I don't think I'll be going back."

Sev's jaw dropped a little bit. Then she shook it off. He had to go back. She reached forward abruptly and embraced him. He rested his head under her neck. They were about the same height, and it took as much effort for either one of them to be held by the other.

"Frodo," she whispered into his hair. "You'll be all right. I promised you would get home safely. There and back again, like Bilbo. Only this time the dragon's bigger . . ." She squeezed him close. "And the hobbit is stronger. Has to be stronger. You'll get home, I so swear." She reached down and kissed his nose.

Frodo stood there, not entirely taking in her words so much as her warmth, her immediate presence. She need say nothing.

Perhaps he would make it back.

But he still doubted it somehow.

Smeagol hissed at them to hurry up. Sev reluctantly let go of Frodo and turned to follow Smeagol. Frodo stumbled a little behind her, but he was at least slightly comforted, if nothing else.

The creature led them into a forest that broadened close to the edge of the Ash Mountains. This region had once been part of Gondor: a huge, rigid statue of a sitting man stood high ahead of the halflings. It drew the gazes of both as they passed it, for the head had been replaced by a menacing, metal-wrapped rock, vaulted from a weapon of some sort long ago.

Sev turned and saw the former head of the statue. She laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder.

"Look," she said. The sunlight filtered through the trees above the head and illuminated the vines of flowers surrounding the top of the head. "It looks just like Aragorn in 30 years," Sev elaborated.

Frodo stifled a chuckle. "Crown of flowers especially."

She nudged him. "Don't tease Aragorn," she chided jocosely. Frodo held in a laugh as she continued. "The King has a crown again." Her voice grew grand, but then sank back. "Even if it is a crown better suited to Rosie Cotton."

Frodo shook his head, chuckling slightly. She reached up—feeling a little impulsive, perhaps not processing her impulses at all—and kissed his cheek rather deeply. She cackled wickedly at his blush, but she couldn't hide herself either. She stared at her feet as they continued very slowly.

The hobbit glanced hopefully at Sev. He could make it back. On her behalf, he could make it back. If she didn't last this he would refuse to.

As he watched her, a cloud covered the sun just enough, and the light faded from over the statue of the king's head. Sev turned with Frodo and continued more quickly after Smeagol.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully, for which Sev was rather grateful. And when they settled beside a small pond, surrounded by jutting rock, Frodo fell asleep without the Ring in hand. As she had done before, Sev laid her cloak around his feet before she retired herself. He didn't respond to that; chances were he was too tired, especially after not getting any sleep the night before.

Sev drifted off as well, feeling enough lack of apprehension to do so.

Smeagol's eyes shot open a few minutes after she slipped away, and he inspected both halflings before turning to the nearby pond. He conversed with Gollum on how he wanted the Ring back, how they would lead the halflings to _her_. How orcses tasted nasty, but hobbit flesh would be nice and warm.

Sev awakened some time into this conversation, and the sinking realization that Smeagol was talking to Gollum again hit her hard. Her eyes sank closed; they didn't have time for this, not for Smeagol to betray them. She sat up very slowly and carefully, almost planning to turn him around.

Then she heard what he was saying.

"Then we pick through the bones, and the empty clothes . . ."

"And then we takes it!" Smeagol screeched delightfully. "And then it will belong to me!"

"Us," Gollum asserted.

The conversation didn't get much farther before Sev had crept up behind him, hoping to frighten him out of his plotting. She didn't know what more she could do; Frodo was the one that helped him get rid of Gollum the first time.

Perhaps they had lost the ability to keep him good.

Perhaps they would have to get rid of their guide now.

Smeagol stared down into the pool, and as Sev approached her reflection slipped into view. He screeched and turned around. Sev turned to get his attention, but he rebounded off a nearby rock and tackled her to the ground. She scrambled and shoved against him, sudden panic flooding her as she remembered when he had almost choked her. Initially her bruise built up again in her throat as she threw him off. He smacked against a nearby rock and slapped against the ground.

"She's going to kill us . . . _kill_ us!" Smeagol wailed.

Frodo tossed in the two cloaks, only hearing them in the back of his consciousness. His sleep was not accustomed to being tossed when allowed to be present.

"Quiet, Smeagol!" Sev hissed. "Let him rest." Then she gestured to Frodo. "How could you betray him? He's done everything for you!"

Smeagol began wailing again. "Smeagol would never! We do what Master says! Always what Master says; why does she hates poor Smeagol?!"

"You are betraying him. You're trying to kill him!" She stepped closer to the creature. "Bones? Empty clothes? Smeagol, don't turn your back on him. He's just trying to help! But if you harm him, I will to worse to you. His life matters more to me than yours."

Gollum's eyes grew empty and hard. "We kills her first, Precious," he spat. He hissed and leaped up onto her, throwing her to the ground. She grappled with him, but somehow did not have the strength to fight the brittle creature. She rolled him over, but he easily pinned her back with her head just above the water. He wrapped his legs around her torso and shoved her head by the jaw below the surface of the pond. Sev tried to inhale before she went in, and a mouthful of water filled her.

This only rushed her panic, and so she initially grabbed Gollum's arm and snapped. He howled, but her touch mended the break in his bone almost immediately. But he let go long enough that she sat up and could fight back.

About this time, Frodo could sleep no longer. Something wasn't going right. His ability to rest slipped away strand at a time until he saw Smeagol leap onto Sev. He jumped up, abandoning her cloak on the ground.

Gollum leaped on her again, slamming her up against the rock. He reached forward to bite her shoulder, but she brought her foot up to his stomach and shoved back. He collapsed onto the ground, and she bent quickly over him, only to keep herself alive at this point. She didn't know how to protect Frodo: if she killed Gollum, she would only try to revive him. If she hurt him, neither he nor Frodo would ever be able to trust her again. All she could do was keep alive.

Frodo raced to them, but they rolled away. Sev ended up on top, and Gollum wrapped his arms around the back of her head to choke her again.

"Sev!" Frodo grabbed her by the shoulders, and yanked her off of Smeagol. "Sev, no!"

She spun around, out of breath, as Gollum leaped up onto a nearby ledge and screeched. "She kills us!"

Sev shot her gaze to him, then turned back to Frodo. "Frodo, he's going to try and kill us." She shook her head. "I know he changed, but something happened in Gondor."

"I'm not sending him away," Frodo countered. She wouldn't lie to him, but the bruise on her neck—not yet having faded—made him think that Smeagol must have been talking about something to ignite false suspicions. But he didn't dare tell her he didn't believe her. "Without a guide we're lost!"

"I know that," Sev persisted. "But I won't watch you die because I stood by and watched treachery." She glared back at Gollum, who left his eyes open and wide, ostensibly in fear. But she felt him glaring daggers behind that mask.

Frodo shook his head. He was too tired for this.

Sev didn't even have to guess. She glanced at the ground. "You don't believe me."

Frodo sighed. She had said it herself. "Smeagol has done nothing, Sev."

"Why does she hates poor Smeagol?!" Gollum wailed again. "Always making up lies, trying to get rid of good Smeagol!"

Sev glared back at Gollum. Playing off of how much Frodo cared about him to take away protection; it disgusted her. Sev stepped away from Frodo. She couldn't take this anymore; she had to cut herself off until Frodo believed her. It would have to happen soon. Soon Gollum would make it all too obvious.

Frodo reached for her and caught her shoulder before she could go anywhere. She glared up at him. She couldn't protect him if he didn't let her. Suddenly she had grown useless.

The hobbit, now a little distraught, rubbed her shoulder. Warmth flickered dangerously up his arm. It felt strangely hot. He almost felt guilty for not believing her, but he knew Smeagol wouldn't betray him, not now. He couldn't believe they could have come this far just to have their guide fail. Smeagol had good in him; Sev just couldn't see it yet, he rationalized.

"Sev," he tried. "I need you on my side."

"I am, I promise," she said abruptly. She turned her gaze away, but then finally looked up at him. A glimmer of hope remained. "But I need you to promise me that, if Gollum does prove disloyalty to you, that we'll find our own way to Mordor. That the moment you see treachery in him, we abandon the danger."

Frodo nodded slightly. He moved to embrace her, hopefully calm the anxiety and bubbling furiosity in her, but she yanked hard away from him. If he didn't believe her, she would fail. She scooped up her cloak from the ground and whisked it about her shoulders. Frodo felt a slight pang when he realized why and how his feet had been so warm.

"Come, Smeagol," he said in spite of himself. He could calm Sev later. For the moment he needed to make Smeagol feel better, just long enough to retain loyalty. The creature accepted his extended hand. Frodo realized after a sharp moment that Smeagol's hand was nothing like Sev's: bony, brittle, rough. He turned away with the creature.

Sev glanced somewhat hopelessly at Gollum, but when he gave her a dark, smug smirk she glared back. She walked briskly after them, maintaining distance; if Frodo wouldn't believe her, she could try nothing more.


	35. The Way into Mordor - Shadows

**Am back from Europe at last, but my internet and almost every other electrical appliance/connection in my home has decided to go wonky. Uploading may be intermittent, but thanks for reading, reveiwing, favoriting, and following! :)**

As they neared Mordor, the Ring abandoned its attempt for Sev for the time being. As Smeagol continued to lead them on, Frodo felt the chain searing in the back of his neck. He hadn't remembered feeling that begin; it must have started subtly. He turned to look at Sev, hoping she would take it a little from him, but she didn't look compliant at all. He continued after Smeagol, unsure what to tell her, unsure what would work to bring her out of her mood. He knew that back at home she would just disappear until the problem went away, and whenever it was brought up again she would treat it jocosely.

Maybe this would be different. He didn't trust her, and perhaps that cut her deeply.

Lo and behold, however, as the day wore on Sev grew closer to him and Smeagol. She felt her bubbling irritation simmering, then hardening into despair. She couldn't help him as far as believing Gollum's treachery, but she saw the pain growing in him, the weight as the Ring took anxious steps towards its goal.

Frodo didn't turn around, although he wanted to. Both his pain and the Ring pulled for him to touch her, to let her warmth soak through him and lighten the burden around his neck. He strained his hands until they ached; they didn't have time for this. But his fingers felt so empty.

Smeagol led them through the rest of the forest on the border of Gondor. The trees gave way rather abruptly to dark rock. As they progressed, climbing up small rises—gaining elevation very quickly—the rock gained a dark green, sinister sheen. Sev felt a chill of anticipatory darkness trace up her back, and she shuddered, drawing closer to Frodo. He could feel it too. Sauron called to the Ring, and he called to Sev's blood. In those moments, Sev looked to Frodo for support, but she received none: the Ring only burdened her more. But Frodo did not leave, for he felt better there.

Soon everything around them was dark. Frodo knew the days had been getting darker, but now he realized the sky was almost black. The only light surrounding them was slightly green, but he couldn't name a source.

Finally, as they struggled up a final rise, Frodo could see a city only a few hundred yards away. The architecture, like everything that belonged to Sauron, was ridged with dark spines all over the glowing, green walls. A stone path led from the mouth of the city—two huge, iron double doors—beyond a gate of gargoyles and through the mountains, beyond towards Gondor.

Sev's hackles raised. The city beckoned to her. In some horrifying, twisted way, it looked like home. She shuddered intensely, and her fingers gripped the rock before her, straining the stone into little crumbs and flecks. She had to look away. The green was so tantalizing, so inviting, so cold.

"Minas Morgul, the Dead City." Gollum's voice banged through her head like clubs and rang like bells. She heard a summon in his words, and she writhed in place. "Very nasty place. Full of . . . enemies." Gollum grinned sadistically and leaped over the small rise. Frodo put a hand on Sev's shoulder; he'd noticed her cringe as though someone had just stuffed her mouth with orc fingers or something.

Sev stared up at Frodo. The sudden pierce of light into her, although his had dimmed with the pressure of the Ring, still ignited something deep down. She nodded at him as the tug of Minas Morgul slipped away.

"I'm all right," she assured him. When he didn't move, unsure how to take her response, she leaped over the rim of the rocks and let a hand down to him. He accepted it and kept it, shuddering under the blackness of a land so close to Mordor. Her warmth trickled up through his arm like it hadn't since at least the day before, and the Ring flickered its burden to her. She crumpled slightly at the added darkness dragging and tugging at her, but Frodo didn't notice. Not that he could have helped at all.

Gollum chittered excitedly up ahead of them. "The stairs!" he exclaimed. Sev and Frodo turned their gazes up to the staircase, steep and twisted. It clambered up the entire mountainside, straight up. "The way into Mordor! Come, we must climb!"

Sev stared up it with a dark glare, but they had no choice. She turned and glanced at Frodo, then began to follow Gollum up the stairs. Each step was slick and steep; Sev let out a sigh of disgust at the dark grime now coating her hand. These would be interesting to climb.

Frodo moved to follow them . . . but then his eyes trailed to the gargoyles that guarded Minas Morgul. His eyes widened. They seemed to pierce his soul. Their tongues, long and sinister, hung out of fanged mouths, as though taunting him.

 _Bring it here, little hobbit_ , they jeered. A cackle pierced his ears, ascending in cacophonies of multiple voices, more than the two gargoyles he saw. The Ring dragged on his neck, towards the gargoyles. He stumbled against it, but he was not strong enough. It dragged him closer, numbing his will. He grabbed at the Ring to take the numbing pressure away, the pain that had been growing stronger but that he didn't want to tolerate. _You can't carry it. Give it to somebody stronger. Bring it home; you can't do anything better._

Sev spun when she couldn't hear Frodo behind her. "Frodo!" She leaped off the rock.

"Not that way!" Gollum screeched. He raced after Sev as well.

Sev grabbed Frodo from behind, but he and the Ring were too strong for her. Frodo began dragging her along with him, driven by the force of the Ring.

"It's calling to me, Sev," he breathed. Sev began failing to the dark influence as well. Her very blood yearned to be in Mordor, yearned to be a servant of Sauron. Her fingers edged towards Frodo's Morgul stab, towards the Ring. Gollum finally grabbed her ankle and yanked her off her feet. She stumbled backwards onto Frodo, and they both crashed to the rocky ground. Her sudden realization of what she'd done snapped her out of it, and she grabbed Frodo by the shirt collar to lift him onto his feet. He stumbled as he stood. Her hands were so close to the Ring that it let him go for a second entirely, and he leaped up.

"Are you all right?" Sev asked, her voice escalating. The Ring sizzled so close to her hands. Her blood began to gather at her fingers.

Frodo nodded numbly, but then a rumble began behind them. Sev didn't even turn around to look before she shoved Frodo over the edge of the nearest rock shelf and ducked down with him. A huge whoosh, accompanied by a loud, thunder-like crack, split the air behind them. Sev and Frodo glanced over the rim of the rock to see a huge pillar of bright green wind rising into the sky, crackling like electricity against the clouds of Mordor.

 _They know the Ring is here,_ Sev thought. Her heart sank.

Then a shriek pierced the air. A helmeted Nazgul riding a dragon flew down from the top of the mountains. The dragon's feet crunched against the roof of Minas Morgul. But the Nazgul didn't seem to be looking for the Ring particularly. Sev's brow narrowed, a little confused but mostly apprehensive.

The dragon shrieked again, and then the Nazgul itself let out a piercing wail. Sev slapped to the ground, hands clamped over her ears. Frodo did the same, writhing in pain, until the shriek intensified. He jolted with a strained groan and grasped his shoulder. Sev turned to him, eyes wide.

"I can feel his blade . . ." Frodo managed. The heavy pressure of the dagger would not go away, the sting constantly rebuilding within him as the sharp tip pierced him again and again. Sev grabbed his hand—she could do nothing more in her desperate attempt to quell his pain. But somehow it worked. Frodo's pain melted at her touch, although the ear-shattering screech continued. Frodo stared down at her hand, something driving him suddenly to shove her hand right over his skin, although that would mend it immediately.

Sev felt her addiction taking over, but Frodo would not let go of her hand. She pulled, but he didn't seem to notice. Fear grabbed her, and she dragged Frodo to his feet. He stared at her hand still, wondering why that seemed to help in every way. Something about that warmth, but in this case it was more than that: the cold itself trickled away at her touch.

Suddenly Sev had so much more sustenance. She hadn't even drained much, but that Morgul poison was extremely potent. It powered her bloodstream as though she had just brought someone back to life. Her fingers tingled with the desire to go back for more, but she tore herself away. She had no Morgul blade, luckily, but no doubt the moment the wound was gone she would go hunting for one to stab him again. She couldn't let herself, and whatever Frodo had just done back there didn't comfort her at all: if they both wanted it she couldn't avoid it for long.

As they scrambled towards the stairs, the Nazgul's dragon roared again. This time it opened the huge double doors of Minas Morgul, and orcs began tramping out in four semi-organized lines. Gollum ushered Frodo and Sev up the stairs; Sev admonished Frodo to go first.

Gollum sent an initial sneer after the hobbit, and Sev glowered down at him. Gollum didn't even look intimidated, so she bent down. She clambered to keep a handhold on the rocks above her, however: she could slip easily.

"Don't hurt him," she muttered. "Remember what I told you." Then she paused. "And what Faramir said."

Gollum mockingly nodded to her as she continued to ascend the stairs.

The creature easily leaped up ahead of them, scaling the rocks like a spider. He muttered alongside them as they ascended, as though providing commentary on how they walked and how much progress they made. Soon Sev could pick out his words, though; Frodo was too tired to care. He didn't know what was driving him forward anymore, save the ability to do nothing more than keep moving.

His fingers slid along the grimy ridges and his breath sped up, but he hardly noticed them. The weight on his neck numbed everything from his spine to the stretches of his fingers.

"The stairs," Gollum muttered. "Very dangerous."

Just then one of Frodo's hands slipped against the edge of the cliff. Gollum reached forward. Sev was too far down to notice, struggling her way up the rock. "Careful, Master!" Gollum admonished. Then, as Frodo vaulted himself numbly over the cliff, the creature gasped. His eyes caught the Ring, swaying with Frodo's scramble to climb. He suddenly grew impulsive, straining to keep from strangling Frodo. He reached forward, his fingers itching to lock about the Ring before him.

"Leave him alone!" Sev drew her sword. Gollum wrestled with himself; he couldn't take it now. Revenge first, get rid of the girl first. His hand aborted from taking the Ring, and he grabbed Frodo's hand, helping him over the rise.

Sev settled fitfully as Gollum whined to Frodo. "Why does she hates poor Smeagol?"

Frodo didn't pay much attention. He was absolutely exhausted, and the dragging weight on every inch of this skin didn't help at all.

"Poor Master," Gollum murmured, stroking Frodo's shoulder very cautiously. He wanted the Ring that badly. He bent down towards Frodo. "It is heavy, Master. But you mustn't give it to her!"

Frodo gave him an odd look. He didn't understand.

"The girl-one," Gollum hissed gleefully. "She wants it. We see it in her eyes. She looks at it. She will ask you for it."

Frodo gripped the Ring. But then he settled as he watched her clamber over the rise; perhaps she wouldn't want it. She just wanted to protect him.

The Ring only used that thought as an outlet. It couldn't get to Sev if Frodo didn't get close to her, but giving up on Sev would make taking over Frodo much easier. He'd been hard enough without a distraction, resilient enough without help. Rubbing on him thus far, the Ring's final blow would be all too easy if it could get rid of her.

Patience. Patience.

Sev settled against a nearby wall, letting her eyes squeeze shut. She didn't feel well, but she could do nothing for it. She'd been berating herself about touching Frodo's shoulder the whole way up, and the darkness of Mordor dragged at her, begged her to join it, to come home where her blood would serve a grand, terrible purpose.

Frodo watched. He wanted her. She looked pained, just like she had the first time he saw her. But now he thought he understood. Her journal thudded against his chest as he sat up slightly.

Gollum scrambled up to Frodo a moment later, licking his lips. "Smeagol will go find food, yes," he said, almost asking but not quite.

Frodo nodded ambivalently, eyeing Sev. She would be gentle, she would be warm, she would take his burden and lighten it a little. Gollum excitedly raced off, easily scaling the sides of the cliff.

"Sev," he managed, laying himself down wearily. She glanced up, suddenly perked. He sounded weak and desiring, so she crept up to him. He reached up for her. "I'm so tired."

As he'd expected, her eyes flickered with concern. She laid a hand on his face, and he sank into her soft touch.

"I know; me too. Come and lie down," she said finally. Frodo just wanted to lay his head in her lap. Then he could lie flat and still be close to her. He didn't think that she might want to sleep too, but at the moment it couldn't have crossed his mind. So when she said that he ought to come lay down, he was surprised that she'd read his thoughts.

She dragged him across the rock. "Yes . . ." he muttered in response to her statement. She moved to place her cloak as a pillow for him, but Frodo abruptly laid himself perpendicular to her and lowered his head onto her lap. She held up her hands, a little taken aback. Frodo shifted until he was perfectly comfortable; the proximity of her warmth overwhelmed his head, gently pushing him to sleep. He turned, letting his arms limp at his sides.

Sev's punctured bubble finally gave way to pity and a deep sense of care. She stroked his hair back repeatedly. "My dear Frodo," she muttered. His lungs swelled against her lap, but that was the only healthy-seeming thing about him. His skin was pale, and grime and dirt covered him from head to foot. His expression was perfectly blank, torn between relief at being able to lie down and the pain that afflicted him incessantly. He shivered, not only with cold but with weakness.

His hair flickered between her fingers. She reached down, brushing it out of the way, and kissed his forehead gently. He moaned lightly at the trickles of warmth that spread through him like streams off of a mountain. Then, when she slowly broke away, she laid her hand on his forehead again. His breathing settled. She rubbed her other hand over his chest, feeling for the living pulse of his heart. He grabbed her hand initially when the warmth of her touch spread through his shoulders. His thumb brushed the back of her hand; it ignited strokes of warmth in him . . . and it pushed the Ring to do something about her.

Sev settled to sleep there. Protection of Frodo mattered more than anything else in this moment. The darkness of Mordor slipped away at the touch of something so bright and so pure.


	36. Go Home

Gollum returned empty-handed. He hadn't expected to find anything; he simply needed to let the hobbits fall asleep without him present. He crept up on them from behind, ready to make his move. He had taken some of the cursed lembas bread with him when he left, and now he crumbled little pieces over the shoulder of Sev's cloak, then threw the rest of it over the cliff. He resisted cackling triumphantly to himself . . . but as he crept down towards the halflings he halted abruptly. His head cocked.

Frodo's head lay in Sev's lap, and she had one slender hand shielding his forehead and the other laid over his chest. They both seemed so untouched, so peaceful in that moment. Gollum crept forward, and for a second Smeagol took over again. He loved Frodo. Frodo was Master; Frodo was his friend. And yet, despite all Smeagol had done before, Frodo still seemed to prefer the girl most of the time.

Smeagol had to admit, if he had a woman protecting him and loving him like she loved his Master, he would keep her too. He blinked as he surveyed Sev. He knew little experience of the love of a woman, beautiful or otherwise, but he wondered for a fleeting moment if he could separate the two hobbits, retrieve the Ring, and then go after Sev.

But every dark thought melted away when he crept right up to Frodo. He'd never really had such a close companion, not since he'd betrayed his cousin Deagol for the Ring. But now, looking at Frodo, he felt like he had family again. He reached forward and caressed the hobbit's knee, feeling for once as a father to the hobbit. His eyes softened. Perhaps taking them to her wouldn't be such a good idea; he loved Frodo too much.

But at Smeagol's touch, Frodo cried out a little uncertainly: the fingers on his knee were cold and brittle, and he didn't know what to think of them. He tossed against Sev's lap.

Before Gollum even pulled away, Sev's eyes shot open. She initially tensed over Frodo, worried something had happened. When she saw Gollum's hand flicking away from the hobbit she held, her expression suddenly darkened into a suspicious glare. Gollum, hurt, scrambled away and slipped over a close shelf of rock. He didn't feel awful at all for what he had just done, and he no longer wanted to take it back as he had been considering.

Sev detected the trace of sudden pain in his eyes. She reached forward. "Gollum," she tried. "Gollum, I'm sorry—,"

Gollum just settled on the rock a little bitterly. She'd even stopped calling him Smeagol. She knew of his treachery, of course, but Gollum had thought hoped—apparently an empty hope—that she would be at least conflicted. She had just apologized, but it wouldn't make any difference. Gollum's plans were solidified.

Then Sev paused. "What have you been doing?"

Gollum blinked and paused. "Just here, she-hobbit. Just here."

Sev nodded, still skeptical. She almost apologized again, wanted to ask why he had been near Frodo. He looked pained, not maniacal, which confused her. He wanted to kill Frodo, but something was off about it this time. He wouldn't have tried to be so quick about it, not with the two hobbits there resting. Besides, the knee would have been a strange place to start.

But she was interrupted when Frodo stretched across her lap. She tightened her hold on him so he wouldn't fall over the edge of the cliff, only a foot or two away from them. Frodo relaxed again, his eyes flickering with the exhaustion of just having awakened. He blinked up at Sev. Somehow his hand had left hers while he slept; he now slipped his fingers over her own and rubbed her skin idly. He pressed her hand gently over the Ring, but its influence did not draw back very much. His brow furrowed: something was wrong.

"Sev . . ." he muttered.

Sev rubbed his forehead. "It's time, Frodo," she whispered. She kissed his forehead once more; while the Ring was obstinate in letting Sev go, the warmth did not fade, for which Frodo was grateful. "Do you want something to eat?"

Frodo nodded against her hand, and her fingers gently brushed his skin. He sat up to let her stand.

Sev grimaced; the circulation in her legs was gone, but having him there was more than worth it to her in circumstances such as these. She wiggled her toes, almost wishing Frodo would help her get up.

But he was too exhausted to do anything, much less consider that he might have cut off blood flow to her feet. He blinked, glancing about uncertainly. Sev walked unsteadily past him and knelt beside their satchel. She opened the top, glanced inside . . . and saw nothing more than empty lembas wrappings.

Her eyes widened. Frodo glanced at her with his head cocked, unsure what could possibly be wrong.

Sev didn't turn to look at him. "Frodo, have you eaten anything since we left the bordor of Gondor?"

His lack of verbal response told her everything. The lembas leaves trembled in her hands as she turned helplessly to Frodo. The empty leaves unfolded before Frodo.

"It's gone," she whispered gravely. He eyed it, somewhat blank and only despairing with regard to the fading wisps of logic left within him. Those deteriorated soon; he had no drive to more than keep walking simply because he knew he had to.

Sev was devastated in spite of his seeming ambivalence. Frodo would starve, and she had no idea why the food was all gone. "What could have—?" Then she glanced up at Gollum. She could see him hiding some flicker of malice deep within. She pointed at him, then paused. "But you wouldn't have eaten it. You couldn't!"

Gollum waited a moment, then gasped. He fingered lembas crumbs off of her cloak, letting them collapse to the ground.

"Are you serious?" Sev persisted immediately. She hoped Frodo didn't believe she had eaten them; he had to trust her, even if he didn't entirely know how much she would sacrifice for him. "I don't even need—!"

Gollum barged in on her statement with full force. "Girl-one is always eating when Master isn't looking! And she makes up lies about poor Smeagol to hide it!"

Sev caught a sob with her palm. She didn't even try to fight back. Either Frodo would believe the dreadful creature or he wouldn't. Sev sank to the ground. She couldn't let Frodo die. Perhaps she could carry the Ring. She gravely decided that if Gollum didn't find food for him, and if Sev couldn't either, nothing more could be done.

Frodo didn't believe she'd taken it, so her reaction surprised him. He thought also that Smeagol was simply trying to protect him, just being suspicious of Sev because she cut in to their bond rather powerfully. He reached forward as she sank to the ground.

"Gollum, why would you do this?" she breathed. He could take as much of his anger out as he wanted on her, but not on Frodo. Not on Frodo.

Exhausted, Frodo touched her shoulder. His eyes flickered, and his voice rasped slightly. "Sev, we've got to move on." He initially wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but again the Ring did not react to her. It couldn't afford to. It would have to leave Frodo entirely to catch her, and vice versa. It had chosen Frodo, and now crept into the corners of his mind with padded feet. Frodo sidled up to Sev, fearing the chill slithering into place.

"Frodo, you have to eat!" Sev insisted. "You won't have the energy to carry the Ring at this point, much less survive."

At this Frodo froze, locking his fingers along her arm. She hardly noticed, probably blindly dismissing his reaction as perhaps realization. The Ring jumped to its own defense, building up retorts in Frodo's mind like the grime of the steps around him.

Sev continued. "I could carry it for a while. Share the load with you; then maybe we could find something for you to eat—,"

Frodo snapped away from her. "No!" He clutched the Ring, glaring hard. "Sev, you cannot!"

What finally made him speak was his fear that the Ring had taken her as well, and that she would burn herself on it, that the Ring would become more powerful at her hand. But the Ring could use that to its advantage if it wished, and it did.

Sev stared at him, taken aback more than she ought to have been. "Frodo, I just want to help. I didn't mean any harm."

Gollum began leaping excitedly in place. "Girl one wants it for herself!" he chanted. Frodo remembered what Gollum had told him, and he tried to throw it off: of course Sev was just trying to protect him. But the Ring and Gollum's suggestions won out: the Ring had sway over all, and Sev had just fallen prey like the rest of them. The voice within Frodo's head grew hard, stony, insensitive.

Sev's gaze snapped to Gollum. "As if you didn't," she hissed. Then she turned back to Frodo. "Frodo, I beg of you, Gollum is trying to kill you and take the Ring!"

Frodo's glower soon matched the thoughts and feelings within, ones the Ring now had perfect control over. "No, Sev," he said darkly. "You want the Ring." He only half believed it himself, but asserting it out loud frightened him into wishing he had never thought it. His own consciousness easily fell to the stronger grip within.

Sev shook her head. "Frodo, didn't you see what the thing did to me?" She lifted her palm, showed him the perfect etching of black in her hand. Frodo reached out, his initial thoughts taking over at the vulnerable gesture, but his fingers dropped. Sev swallowed; she begged him with her eyes, pleaded with her expression, but nothing more could be done. And they both knew it.

"You shouldn't help me anymore," Frodo said, his words monotone. "It's too dangerous. The Ring is trying to take you." He strained, preparing himself for the words he had tried to say since Rivendell, but now came out with such a malicious stain that he cringed at them. He turned away from her. "Go home."

Sev hesitated, completely taken aback. She stared at him, blinked as though to clear her senses. "Frodo . . ."

His voice grew stronger, although the volume dropped. "Go home, Sev." He stared up at her—tears flooded his eyes and trickled quickly down his cheeks. Something deep within him knew that this was not right, that this was not what he wanted, but the Ring willed him not to care.

Sev could do nothing more. If Frodo did not want her, if he truly meant it with the darkness and intensity with which he had spoken to her, she could do nothing. She had no strength left. She collapsed numbly in a corner of stone, sinking to the ground, and her body curled into a tight ball. Frodo almost wished she would fight him. She could be obstinate, but only when she felt she was doing one a favor with her stubbornness. He reached for her, nearly asked her to fight him.

"Frodo, you can't," she mumbled. Her voice muffled in her crossed arms. "They'll kill you." She sniffled, choking back sobs. "They'll kill you," she repeated more than once as Smeagol and Frodo walked past her. Soon they had gone up enough stairs that Frodo could not see her anymore.

Without Sev to hinder its progress, the Ring settled its cold and blackness directly on Frodo. He shivered, wondering when Sev would follow them. If she would. He turned back periodically, but she had already started blindly forcing her way down the stairs. He could see her smacking against the wall as she went down.

He wanted to go after her, but the Ring dragged him forward.

"Sev . . ."

She was gone, though. She wasn't coming back, no matter how much Frodo wished it on the inside. He had hurt her too much, had gone too far.

 _I must go back for her. I won't make it alone._

 _Don't care about her,_ the Ring persisted.

 _Her warmth has protected me._

 _Forget her._

The Ring slowly coaxed him away from thoughts of Sev to thoughts of nothing but that little, heavy circlet of gold hanging innocently about his neck with a livid gleam.


	37. If You Do Not Find a Way

Sev shook her head repeatedly as she raced down the stairs. Her steps were uneven. She could hardly see past her tears. She hadn't stopped them since the moment Frodo left her on the stairs of Cirith Ungol. She couldn't believe he would abandon her like that. Of course the Ring had so much to do with it . . . but she thought he loved her.

Her head trembled madly. She would go drain herself now. With no way to protect Frodo anymore, she could die. She wanted to before something awful happened to him and all of Middle Earth collapsed just because the Ring was stronger than any other force in this world. Bitterness and despair clambered through her, as well as guilt for not following him despite his assertions.

One particularly steep sector of stairs met Sev, and she slipped on one of them. She crashed against the stone, banging down a few of the steps before slapping against a small outcropping of rock. She gasped as sharp stone carved into her flesh. She glanced up at the endless ranks of orcs as they left Minas Morgul. So much for killing herself; they would take care of it easily, if she survived getting down the stairs.

Sev braced herself up to keep going, but then she spotted something white among the dark stone. She reached forward, disbelieving. She gently scooped up the lembas bread before her. Then a sudden conviction—the realization that much as she loved Frodo, he didn't know everything—swept over her. Perhaps he needed her. And Gollum had a plot against him.

Sev spun around. She couldn't let him fall to the creature's hands. Her eyebrows narrowed, and the black blood in her eyes thickened dangerously. She stuffed the lembas in her pocket and began racing up the stairs.

"I'm coming, Frodo."

Frodo stumbled blindly over the last few steps. Finally a flat platform awaited him, but he hardly noticed the transition despite the significant drop in amount of effort. Every step dragged harder and harder on him as Smeagol goaded him on, on towards a tunnel. The Ring pushed him as well, although Frodo did not understand why. Why would the Ring push him towards its doom? Perhaps in an attempt to get back to its Master; its fall and salvation lay in the same land.

As Frodo approached the tunnel, an overwhelming darkness, rank with some scent that his nose couldn't pick up as well as his mind could, sifted his senses about. He lifted his hand to his face, staring into the blackness. Something invited him inside, something he didn't want to know about.

"What is this place?" Frodo breathed. There was something horribly off about it.

"The tunnel," Smeagol insisted. "The way into Mordor."

Frodo hesitated outside, not willing to go in. He stared at the empty darkness; he couldn't.

"Master must go _inside_ the tunnel," Smeagol prompted impatiently.

Frodo shook his head slowly. He had a gut feeling; he couldn't want to go inside.

"There's something in there," he breathed. "Now that I'm here, I don't want to go in."

Gollum just about hissed at him. But he had one other outlet into Frodo. "If you do not go in, you must go back." He sat back smugly to watch Frodo's reaction; he knew Frodo's dedication to his quest, even if the Ring ate away at his strength every day.

Frodo exhaled slowly, setting himself. He hadn't lost Sev just to abandon the quest now. "I can't go back." He stepped inside, almost limping with the effort it took to drag himself forward. Gollum resisted cheering to himself and began leaping through the dark tunnels.

"This way!" Gollum called out, slipping through corners. Frodo strained to keep up, but Smeagol did not wait for him. Soon he lost the creature; he pursued him helplessly, staring this way and that through the midnight tunnels.

"Smeagol!" he called out. "Smeagol?"

Soon he heard Smeagol's voice. "This way!"

He had no idea where it was coming from, but he went through the tunnels in the way he assumed best. Oh, how he wished Smeagol would come back and find him.

Finally he tripped over a soft rock and smacked into the wall of the tunnel. He felt a webby stickiness. He rubbed his fingers together to get rid of the gummy residue on them.

"It's sticky!" he cried out initially. "What is it?" Perhaps Smeagol hadn't been in this tunnel for long enough to know everything in here; perhaps he didn't know what he'd dragged Frodo into.

Then Smeagol's voice came, smug and ominous, through the tunnels. "You will see," he said, almost taunting. "Oh, you will see." Frodo continued walking, but as he continued calling out Smeagol's name it was apparent to him that Sev had been right the entire time. Gollum had been trying to betray him, and Frodo had told her to go home. It hit him then, just how he had told her to end what she'd repeatedly written in her journal was all she had left.

Now she would kill herself.

Frodo's resolve crumbled. "Sev," he managed, glancing around him hopelessly. "I'm so sorry." He blindly began to forge his way out, unable to rely on anything or anyone else any longer. He was now truly alone, in a place he knew was wrong and dangerous for him. He just had to get out and destroy the Ring now.

He couldn't even hope that Sev would be all right. Tears streaked down his face; he daren't think about that now, or he would get nowhere.

Sev felt a streak of triumph as she cleared the last stair and spotted the tunnel rather quickly. She had to hold herself back from racing inside: something dark called to her. She ignored it as best she could; she had to rescue Frodo. She scrambled back from the stone opening, set her convictions not to get addicted to whatever was inside, and barreled right into the void.

Her hands brushed the wall so she could find her way, and she soon met a powerful stickiness. Convinced by her fears and considerations of worst possible scenarios as initiated by Gollum that it was Frodo's blood, she gasped and leaped away from the wall. Then she rubbed her fingers together; they were perfectly dry.

As she continued racing along the tunnels, more confused than before, Frodo also tried to fight his way through the confusing maze. He tripped over another soft rock . . . then realized as he landed in a pile of stickiness that it was an orc skeleton. His gaze jolted, terrified, around the chamber surrounding him. The corpses of birds, orcs, and other large animals hung from various points in the ceiling. Mortified, Frodo scrambled back. But he was only further coated in the webbing around him. Sev soon recognized the carcasses as well . . . and subsequently her fear quickened. She knew of Shelob, the terror of Cirith Ungol. How she could have forgotten, she didn't know. Willation had warned her, had told her she would become a symbiont with Shelob for evil and malice if she was not careful.

Frodo was fairly sure he understood the threat now: a huge spider, or some other creature that spun webs. But a spider seemed the most likely. The thickness of the web threads revealed that, if it was a spider, it was a huge one. Fear built up in Frodo as he backed hopelessly into the web behind him. He let out a cry of disgust and hopelessness. He grabbed at the Ring, for that had become his painful catharsis as of recent times. But then he remembered the light of Earendil.

 _Let it be a light for you in dark places when all other lights are gone out._

Frodo withdrew the light from within his cloak, but it was dim. He closed his eyes, feeling in his association with the Elves how to awaken the light. It took some time to come to him, but finally it trickled into him as initially as words in his own language. "Aiya Earendil . . . elenion ancalima!" He lifted the vial into the air, and the liquid within glowed blue-white.

Sev heard the chant. Relief hit her when she realized Frodo was still alive, and she dashed through the tunnels desperately to find him.

Frodo lifted the light and began to stand . . . but felt a chill of apprehension trickle up his spine. He turned slowly, only to see a huge, horse-sized spider slowly releasing itself from the wall.

Once Frodo saw the spider and tensed, it unfolded entirely from the crevice from where it hid and began shrieking. Frodo lifted Earendil and unsheathed Sting, advancing on the spider. At the shine of the light it shrieked again, this time more high-pitched and pained. It scrambled away from him, and he turned to run.

Sev heard the spider and continued to follow, even though she knew she might not be fast enough. She took off one tunnel after another, but she didn't know how to find her way through this terrifying labyrinth. The sounds ricocheted painfully around the tunnels. She couldn't put down a direction in which to pursue Frodo.

The spider chased Frodo down an open cavern. He slipped into a small hole he caught a glimpse of, and the spider could not follow him inside. But his hands grew slick as he fell, and he lost his grip on the light of Earendil. It settled against the ground above him and dimmed slightly.

The spider forced him away from the hole, biting inside until she realized she couldn't bring him back. She turned to find him; she knew how to get down there. Frodo realized he had to hurry.

Sev came from the other direction moments later, and the vial caught her eye. The glow was fading, but when she touched it the light returned. She held it up to her face, tears of gratitude stinging her cheeks: the glass was still warm. She turned, unsure which direction he had gone, and followed the tunnel Shelob had taken.

Frodo kept an eye out behind him as he ran, but in one of those moments that he glanced back to ensure she wasn't sneaking up on him he slammed into a wall of web that quickly wrapped around him—his feet no longer touched the ground as the web strands wriggled all over him. He struggled mightily with the sticky net until he heard Gollum ahead of him. Sev heard him as well; she was following the spider, although unknowingly, towards Frodo.

The hobbit glanced back; the spider approached him, trying to shove its way through the broken web towards him. He scrambled to break free as Gollum spoke.

"Naughty little fly," the creature said smugly, "why does it cry? Dangling in the web, soon you will be . . ." He paused, crouching up on a rock where Frodo could finally see him. A gleam of malice illuminated his eyes, one Frodo had not seen since Gollum nearly strangled Sev. "Eaten."

Frodo cried out, anger fabricated by the Ring emphasizing his desire to survive. Sev perked up and pursued the sound, now close. Her heart thudded in anticipation. Gollum screeched in horror as Frodo shoved Sting through the strands of web and snapped free. But he wound Sting up too tightly in the web, and he had to leave it behind: the spider was too close.

He broke out into the open, finally. He breathed hard, almost unable to walk. Webbing covered him in patches, and he almost did not want to walk anymore. Then Gollum hissed and tackled him from behind, shoving him to the ground.

Frodo lost self-consciousness almost immediately as the Ring took over. He flipped over, suddenly stronger than Gollum with his psychological pain piqued. He shoved the creature to the ground and wrapped his fingers around his throat. The Ring produced his fear and apprehension during those moments when Sev had almost died, and he was ready to let that anger out on Gollum.

But then Smeagol's voice came back to him. "Master!" Gollum cried.

Frodo's expression twisted, and then he released Gollum, falling back with the realization of what he had been about to do. He shook his head, remembering how he had almost killed Sev the same way. And he had thrown her away because of the Ring. He swallowed, staring down at Gollum. The creature rubbed his neck; the image of her bruise shot through Frodo's mind.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I have to destroy it, Gollum; for both our sakes." He stood, exhausted, and turned to finish the Ring for good.

Gollum's expression hardened. He could never believe again that Frodo meant him any good, especially not now that he intended to destroy the Ring. He snarled and leaped up onto Frodo's back, grappling for the Ring. Taken aback, Frodo fell to the ground. Gollum collapsed from the momentum, tumbling into the blackness of the cliff outside the spider's cave with an echoing screech.

Frodo didn't think Gollum was dead. He couldn't now; he didn't have time to feel sorrow, guilt, or remorse for the poor creature. Chances were excellent that Gollum would be all right. He didn't want to dwell on the alternative. He stood and began stumbling across the dark rock of his path towards Mordor.

Sev nearly smacked headfirst into Sting. It was wrapped hard into the webbing, as though twisted in on purpose. She grabbed it and wrenched hard, but the web was too thick. She glanced around at the former wall now scattered in threads around the floor; she only was glad that she couldn't see Frodo's corpse anywhere. But she could see the tail end of a huge spider disappearing through a nearby tunnel.

She hurriedly unwrapped Sting from the web, glancing down different corridors, but the obvious way seemed to be ahead. Especially if Shelob decided to go down that way. Her pulse quickened; she hoped she wasn't too late.

She leaped through the tunnels, shouting his name. "Frodo!" She wanted him to respond, to tell her where he had gone, to let her know he was still alive. She could no longer see the spider, but she kept moving on.

"Frodo!"

As Frodo limped along the wall, exhausted and beaten, he could swear he heard Sev behind him. He hoped she hadn't been killed. Pain overtook him, and he collapsed against the wall. "I'm sorry, Sev." He bit his lip, breathing hard to bite back all of the despair he felt. Flashes, images, of seeing her stabbed and broken hit him. His knee collided with the ground, and his last bits of strength escaped. "I'm so sorry," he breathed. Then his eyes rolled back and he faceplanted into the hard earth.

Sev's eyes shot open wide when the world around her changed . . . the dark caves of the great spider became a bright, green forest. Frodo felt grass on his face as he pulled back, and she spotted his movement. Her eyes shot wide open. She hoped he could see her; she didn't know if she existed in this situation—what seemed to be a vision.

Then Lady Galadriel stepped into the forest. Frodo stared up at her, hardly believing the beautiful place he'd been brought to. It looked like a brighter sort of Lothlorien, peaceful and soft like he needed. He didn't understand why he was here, but he knew he didn't want to leave. Not now, not with reality out there to face him. He felt the burden, but not entirely. Something was different here.

Galadriel stepped closer to him; he didn't stand up. She looked so graceful and bright, completely flawless, completely opposite of what Frodo felt. She spoke powerfully without opening her mouth—her voice echoed through the wood as she spoke to Frodo.

"This task was appointed to you, Frodo of the Shire." She knelt down close to him, then turned to Sev. Frodo glanced the same direction and stiffened. Sev could do nothing more than gawk for the moment or two it took her to briskly run to Frodo. "If you don't find a way," the Elf continued, "no one will."

Sev couldn't speak. She was utterly shocked, having been attempting to cut herself off in case he died. But he was before her. She reached out slightly.

Frodo shook his head. "Sev, I'm so sorry." He couldn't imagine she was truly before him, but if she was with Galadriel she was safe. But that meant he would be taking the journey alone.

He stared down at her hand, now extended to him. He flicked his eyes to Lady Galadriel as well, then set his face in dark determination. His fingers slipped into place along Sev's scar, and she smiled before pulling him to his feet. It felt so literal, as though she actually had him.

Frodo stood abruptly, back in Shelob's cave. But his determination had not left him. He walked forward, delibration in every step, even though he was badly hurt enough to stumble a little.

Sev gasped when the vision snapped away. Her hand was still open, bent as though closed around his hand. She tightened her fist and held it to her heart: she could still feel his touch. She sprang through the tunnel. She would find him; she could find him.

The hobbit found a tower topped with a red light. He slipped into hiding beside an outcropping before a staircase that led to said tower. He glanced around, trying to locate a guard, but he could see nothing, so he crept out into the open.

Shelob unfolded perfectly silently from a breach in the wall above him. Hobbit smelled good, perhaps the most fleshy, healthy living thing she'd smelled in decades. She had to eat it. She crawled along the stone above him, ready to drop down and sting him.

Sev's gaze flickered over the rock as she raced along, and once she turned one last sharp corner she saw him. She inhaled sharply, then sprang ahead, dodging juts and crevices of rock.

"Frodo!"

Frodo thought he heard a voice behind him, and spun around. He could see nothing.

The spider pulled herself back up into the rock, then ducked down at his back. Sev gaped, almost slowing when Shelob produced her stinger. Frodo, having not seen Sev, turned to continue.

"Frodo, get down!" Sev's voice strained with sudden fear and shock.

Frodo didn't hear that one: Shelob shoved her stinger into his shoulder suddenly. He jolted with a groan as numbing pain branched through his bloodstream, and he fell to the ground unconscious.


	38. Spider Bite

**I didn't realize I left that last one on a cliffhanger, but you were all probably fine. :) Internet decided to be silly again, but here's the next chapter.**

 **Thank you to all those that have favorited, followed, and reviewed! And read, of course.**

Shelob began busily wrapping Frodo in sticky web. Sev's black blood thickened, surging and darkening. Shock exploded in her heart; it blackened her very thoughts with her sudden loss of ability to process.

"Noo!" She didn't have to think before her Elvish knife—not the Mordor dagger she had intended to grab—slipped from its sheath into her hand, and she hurled it at the great spider. It caught Shelob in the shoulder, and she screeched mightily. She didn't quite drop Frodo despite that, just shed the knife with an angry glare into the darkness. The weapon clattered on the stone.

Sev unsheathed Sting and tore across the ground. Her feet barely touched the solid earth. Leastwise, she didn't feel it. She lifted Earendil before her; everything within her burned. Her breath heaved. The spider finally spotted her, regarding the dark creature dismissively. Shelob did not wish to eat one with dark blood, but would appreciate an ally, even if they fed on the same things once Shelob was done with her.

"Put him down," Sev demanded, nigh seething. Shelob dropped him solid on the ground at last, getting impatient with this anti-creature before her.

Sev nodded assertively, breathing harder than running alone should have warranted. "Don't touch him again." She lifted Sting. "Now, go on, fight me!"

Shelob leaped from the entrance to the staircase, hissing and sputtering. Sev brought up Earendil with the sudden realization what she'd brought herself in to. The spider screeched and scrambled back, but didn't stay for long. Sev lunged with Sting and hacked at Shelob's leg. The spider dragged herself away, then grabbed at Sev's hand to wrench the blade from her grasp. Sev rolled and flicked Sting through the air again at the spider.

Shelob reached down to bite Sev, and the anti-creature kicked one of her frontal pincers, bending it back. Shelob shrieked as Sev lifted Earendil up into her eyes. She scrambled away, and while she did her foot collided with the glass vial. It flew away, and Sev didn't have time to go after it when Shelob came back. The light dimmed, cutting off Sev's vision for a moment.

The spider reached down again to bite Sev. Sev sliced the sword up close to her face, but missed and came down on Shelob's leg once more. Green blood trickled onto Sev's fingers, bonding with her own darker blood. Sev sucked in a breath as her energy channeled out to her skin surface and fizzled with the liquid on top.

Shelob sniffed the air. She reached forward abruptly, slamming her pincers around Sev's arm. Sev tried to twist away, but managed to swing Sting around and get the spider in one of her eyes. Shelob wrenched away from the anti-creature, and Sting went flying through the air with the momentum. Sev fell to the ground.

The spider decided Sev would be easier to taint unconscious, and so opened her stinger. She reached down to Sev, but the anti-creature rolled out of the way. The stinger made contact with the ground, and Shelob hissed. She stabbed repeatedly into the earth, and Sev rolled out of the way, one direction to another. She finally broke out from beneath the spider. Shelob backed her into a cliff, and she clambered up. Shelob snapped out at her, and while she did Sev dodged her, rolled down her back to grab Sting. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, but the spider got to her too fast.

Shelob wrenched Sting away with a foot, then reached down and bit Sev's leg. Sev cried out; the spider's venom quickly began to bond with her blood, creating a predatory streak of instinct in Sev's mind. She would become destructive (and partially spider-like in appearance as well) like Shelob if she didn't hurry . . . or so Willation had told her. Without really thinking, she slipped the Mordor knife, her last weapon, out of its sheath and stabbed it up into Shelob's stomach.

The spider split the air with its shriek as it jolted away from Sev. The anti-creature lay gasping while Shelob battled the poison within her as well. The darkness in her system would not allow the poison to kill her, but it hurt terribly, and would leave a burning ache for weeks. Sev finally stood, convulsing slightly with the new blood in her system. She grabbed Sting weakly after discarding her Mordor knife. She slipped Earendil into her hand, and the light fought off her bonded blood.

She advanced on Shelob, jolting her back. Shelob scrambled away from the light, backing pitifully into her cave. She shrank away and faded into the blackness to remedy her pain.

Sev slumped, exhausted, to the ground. Her blood tried to clean itself, but to no avail. Chances were excellent she would feel that desire for the rest of her life, however long that would be. She resolved to make the agony as short as possible.

Then she remembered why she hadn't died yet.

"Frodo!" She shot to her feet and swayed on them slightly. Then she scooped up her Elvish knife and ran to his side. With her dizziness launched by Shelob's bite, she slammed into the cave wall on her way over.

The spider had finished wrapping him rather well. Sev lifted the knife to where his face would be and slipped the edge through the threads of web. They snapped easily at first, but the lower ones became harder to cut as the knife got sticky. Sev reached over frantically and grabbed her Mordor dagger; the poison sizzled and melted through the web. In her hurry, Sev accidentally pricked her thumb with the poisoned knife. She hissed and licked the blood from her skin . . . but the pain halted when she saw Frodo before her. He stared up into the distance, his eyes frozen open.

Sev shoved away thoughts of his fate, blindly hoping—wishing—that he would be alive.

"Frodo." She lifted him gently into her arms. "Frodo, it's Sev." She bit her lip as she raised her hand to brush his hair back; a drop of black blood from her thumb dripped against his pale cheek, and she fingered it away. "Frodo."

She lowered her head to his chest. His lungs were not moving, and she could feel no pulse. Her teeth sank into her lip as she drew back. She kept her eyes closed while tears flooded them; she couldn't let it out yet.

Sev lowered her cheek to his mouth and nose. He wasn't breathing at all.

"Frodo, don't leave me." She lifted him, shocked, into her embrace and began swaying slowly; his head slacked, lifeless, against her shoulder. She choked back a sob and squeezed him close: she was too late. She could do nothing. She felt desperate enough to drain him. She laid him back down and felt around for the wound, but she couldn't find it anywhere. She frantically began slicing away the webbing, feeling around his shoulders. She neatly avoided the Morgul stab, but she finally located a puncture in his opposite shoulder, closer to his chest than the Morgul wound. She slipped her hand over the sting from Shelob, and it began draining into her arm.

She hadn't even drained a good deal—certainly not enough to make an impact on his healing—before the poison took over, and her eyes grew almost entirely black. Predatory instinct flooded her. She reached down to bit his arm, take his life for herself . . . but in doing so her hand jerked away from his wound. She collapsed against his chest, and the lack of thrumming in his heart stabbed her with horrid realizati0n: she couldn't heal him. Despair flooded her even as she sobbed. She tore herself away from him, painfully gathering her weapons, and she threw Earendil into the sheath belt at her side. Her fingers gripped the ground. Stone crumbled in her hands as she realized what she had to do.

Sev approached Frodo again. She lowered her fingers around his neck and bent down close to him so that her cheek faintly rubbed against his. It was still warm, soft, but she threw her hopes down—he would soon be cold. When she pulled back, she held the chain of the Ring. Her eyes narrowed. It had killed him, and now she desired with every fiber of her being to destroy it. Her fingers tensed as she wrapped the chain around her own neck. She laid the chain against her cloak to keep the Ring as high up as possible. The closer it got to her heart, the worse off she would be. She shifted a little; the Ring would not burn her constantly, nor drain her permanently, only occasionally jolting against her neck. She winced at the sting and turned up to look at the tower leading to Mordor.

Her gaze fell once again on Frodo. She stared down at the ground, cutting back the emotion she felt. But he was everything to her, and he'd been taken in moments, moments that followed the greatest breach between them. She lifted him back into her arms. She felt sick—she couldn't leave him, not here.

Sev almost couldn't even process that he was dead. Memories hit her, moments of strength, sorrow, love, and everything in between. His life flashed before her eyes, everything she could recall—subsequently tears streamed down her face. She had to leave now if she wanted to get to Mordor. The rest of the world now lay around her neck, but that was not her burden, not in her mind.

"I love you, Frodo." Her fingers tensed around him. "I hope you know that." She softly brushed her lips against his, wishing he could have known. They were, again, not yet cold; she couldn't shake the empty hope that he was still alive. She laid him on the ground again. She would bury him when she returned, and then she would drain herself by his side.

She might never have had the strength to leave him if Sting didn't begin to glow nearby. Her gaze lifted, and her eyes narrowed. She leaped up and set the sword on a ledge. She spotted a crevice close to Sting and slipped into it, burrowing inside, testing out the size. Frodo would fit, and she could squeeze beside him as long as she didn't mind the tightness of it. She began army-crawling out of the compact hole, but she slammed into the side as she moved. Loose stone cascaded from the ceiling, crushing against her. Her breath whooshed out, and she could barely breathe any back in.

She heard orcs nearby. She scrambled against the rocks that trapped her. _Don't touch him! You don't want anything to do with a lonely, dead hobbit!_ Fear flooded her. _Leave the body alone! Don't touch it, oh, please don't touch it . . ._

A group of five orcs came shuffling into view. Sev buried herself back in the rock so as not to alert them, hoping that maybe they really would go away.

One of the orcs halted the conversation when he spotted Frodo. He knelt down to inspect him. "Looks like Shelob's been having a bit of fun," the first commented.

Another orc, one with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, glanced up after prodding Frodo. Sev growled. _Leave him alone_.

"This fellow ain't dead," the orc said.

Sev's eyebrows drew together, and she managed only a breathless whisper. Tears stung her eyes again. "Not dead?"

"She gets 'em with her stinger," the orc explained, "and they go limp as a boned fish. That's how she likes to feed: warm flesh and blood." He glanced down at Frodo, then gestured to the other orcs. "Get him to the tower! Once we're finished with 'im, he'll wish he'd never been born."

The orcs lifted Frodo up and began carrying him away. Sev scrambled against the rocks frantically, trying to shout at them, get them to drop him. She almost told them she had the Ring, but no words would form. The orcs were out of sight by the time she had her breath back fully, about ten minutes later.

"Sev, you dimwit," she hissed as tears flooded her face. She shoved against the rock, and it scraped her skin. She sucked in a breath, but kept going. Eventually she managed to tumble out, but not without getting her arms scratched up by the stone. She reached up and hurriedly grabbed Sting. As she raced to the edge of the staircase, she was grateful she'd drained Frodo; the poison flooded her scrapes and cuts all over her arms, giving them an upper webbing of skin so she could carry on.


	39. One Does Not Simply Walk Into Mordor

Frodo awakened in the cold stone of the highest point in the tower. At first he was muddled and chilled. Icy air pierced his entire torso, and his wrists were bound in thick rope. He glanced around frantically when he heard voices behind him: orcs passed his mithril and hobbit shirt around.

His eyes widened, and he grasped at his neck: The Ring was gone. They'd taken it.

Despair clouded him. No doubt Sev would be killed. She couldn't have gotten to the border of Gondor yet, and those orc soldiers . . . now Middle Earth would fall. Frodo breathed hard for a moment, then settled with the fade of hope.

His eyes sank closed. "Sev, I'm so sorry." He swallowed a building lump in his throat. He only hoped, as the orcs began quarreling, that they would lose the Ring before it got to Sauron.

Sev raced up to the tower as quickly as she could. The knowledge that Frodo was alive pushed her faster. She shoved up against the door to the tower, wooden but barred with sharp metal. She elbowed it, slammed it with her body. She could hear orcs inside.

Sev banged on the wood with the hilt of her sword. "Open up!" she shouted. They didn't react, so she banged harder. "Let him go or fight me! I'm going to eat you all!" She slammed into the wood again and again, and it finally broke. Two planks slanted ajar before her, and she stumbled with the sudden lack of resistance. She stepped inside, but there was no noise around her, no living orcs in sight. She lifted an eyebrow, then tore her gaze from the orcs. She couldn't look at them, not without the desire to drain them. They'd all killed each other, apparently.

Sting's glow faded as Sev tore up the stairs. She leaped over orcs, although her body begged for sustenance. She shook her head, looking up. Frodo would probably be at the very top, for the fact that she had not seen him on the main floor.

Soon Sting began to glow again. She glanced ahead; likely they were just above her. She growled loudly and turned the corner. They charged for her immediately, and she slashed out. One she hit with the flat on the side of the head, and he collapsed.

"That's for Frodo!" she shouted. There were two more. She slashed the other one in the arm and winced. "For Willation!" The last she clacked with the hilt on the top of the head and threw him behind her. "And that's for Rosie Cotton!" She continued up the stairs, resisting the urge to look back. The wound she'd given to the second orc still stung on her.

Frodo strained against the ropes around his hands. If the orcs were all gone, he had to get out and find the Ring. He hadn't heard rejoicing yet, and hopefully the Ring was with one of the orcs' corpses. But as he struggled, an orc approached behind him.

Sting began to glow again, and Sev stared up the rickety staircase to the very top of the tower. A wounded orc stood at the end of the steps.

"Stop your squealin', you miserable rat!" Frodo jolted. Sev could only assume the orc was referring to Frodo, and she snuck up the stairs behind him. Lividity bubbled inside of her, but she kept it down. She wished to kill nothing.

The orc drew a savage-looking knife. Frodo's eyes widened. "I'm going to bleed you, like a stuck pig!" the orc snapped. Sev rose up behind him and brought both Sting and her sword up behind her head. In her desperate flow of strong emotion, she swung as hard as she could; the flats of both blades banged against the orc's head, and he slacked down the stairs. Sev stared after him.

"Not if I get you first," she hissed.

Frodo's eyes doubled in size as he surveyed her, disbelieving. "Sev!"

She nearly fell over: Frodo was alive and moving, talking to her. She leaped to his side, allowing both of her swords to clatter away. She grabbed the back of his head, and he leaned up close to her. She held him tightly; her fingers sifted through his hair, rubbing repeatedly. Her other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and his pulse ran freely under her fingers. Her eyes squeezed shut—heavens, he was alive. Her warm hands sent shivers through him, and he nestled against her shoulder.

Before Frodo could say anything, Sev pulled away and began dotting his face with kisses. She couldn't have him enough. Her lips softly brushed his nose, hurriedly took in his forehead and cheek, occasionally letting a disbelieving moan of his name slip out. After getting over the initial shock, Frodo brushed a kiss against her jaw, although she hardly noticed. He hoped her lips would touch his, but nothing came of it. She exhaled quickly when she finished, embracing him again. She buried her face in his shoulder. He blinked dizzily: her kisses were light, but they sent sparks of warmth all the way through him.

"You were dead," she managed, realizing that perhaps he didn't understand what was wrong with her. She had him back; she needed nothing now.

Frodo breathed into her hair, wishing he could embrace her as well. "Sev, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—,"

Sev shook her head, pulling away. Tears trickled down her face. She rubbed his hair back repeatedly, peering into his eyes. He lifted his hands and used one finger to gently catch her tears on one side. "Nothing for it," she assured. "I'm just so glad you're alive."

She stared at him for only another moment before she pulled away and removed her Elvish dagger. She tried to cut through the ropes at his wrist, but her knife was still sticky. She threw it aside and hesitantly removed the poisoned blade. Again, it melted through the ropes at his wrists.

When Sev stood back to let him stand, she gaped. The stab from Shelob had scabbed over, and the flesh was a sickly yellow. His Morgul stab looked almost liquid, a crater of black surrounded by purple skin. He was covered with dirt and grime.

"Frodo," she said, her voice broken with sympathy. Then she gasped. "The mithril!"

Frodo shook his head. "That doesn't matter." He threw his bonds aside. "Sev, they took the Ring!"

Sev paused. Her jaw dropped, and she blinked uncertainly. She was almost tempted to leave him behind and destroy the Ring herself, save him that last little stretch of pain in the very fires of Mordor. But the torment in his expression, the belief that he'd failed evident in his eyes, kept her from taking the Ring herself.

But she knew it probably wasn't a wise idea just to hand it to him. Regardless of that fact, she found herself speaking slowly.

"Begging your pardon, Frodo . . . but they haven't." She swallowed and brought her hands up to her neck. Frodo's eyebrows narrowed with concern and realization. She couldn't take it; it would burn her. He almost stood and shook her shoulders, asked her what she was thinking.

Sev winced as she pulled the Ring from around her neck. The metal had branded a scar into her skin, although it only skimmed her neck occasionally instead of branding right into her. She'd gotten more physical, psychological, and emotional scars on this journey than she'd bargained for. But if it kept Frodo alive, then so be it. She held up the Ring, trembling with the desire to break it and take its power for herself.

"I—I thought I lost you." She swallowed when she remembered how pale Frodo had been . . . remembered pressing her ear to his chest and hearing no pulse. "So I took it." She set her expression. "I can carry it the rest of the way if you—,"

Frodo shook his head hurriedly. "Sev, give me the Ring."

"Frodo . . ."

"It will burn you if you keep it," he persisted. Sev paused, then knelt down before him. She searched him to see if his concerns were real or if his psyche just wanted it for how the Ring could control him. She decided he needed to carry the quest out and lowered the Ring over his head. She winced as she laid it against his neck; the skin below where the Ring usually lay had grown raw. She settled her fingers beneath the chain until he shot her a look. Then she hurriedly backed off.

Frodo shook his head, surveying her. He thought she was getting attached to it. "Sev, it's already trying to take you. I don't want it to have you." He tried to stand, but found that his nerves still hadn't entirely awakened. Sev grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. The tingles raced away at her touch, which didn't surprise him at all.

"Come on," she said. "We'd better find some armor. Can't go walking through Mordor just in anything permeable." She clapped his shoulder, then dug into the pack at her side. She threw a white shirt to him, which he donned as she turned away to find armor. She had to go downstairs, and soon found a series of sets of orc armor that were rather small. She selected two sets, the lightest ones she could find. She set aside the lighter one for Frodo. Then she grabbed a beaked helmet, one that she thought would be easy for him to get on and off. She picked the most sinister, perhaps ridiculous, looking one for herself and dragged her bundle up the stairs again.

Frodo sat there, a little stunned, while she was gone. He repeatedly rubbed his hand over his face. Her kisses still touched there like fleeting caresses. He could feel the relief, the desperation, although she was so light. Again he wondered what it would really be like to kiss her. He thought the first was more than enough, but somehow he needed something real, something expressive. Nothing deep, but expressive.

He at least wanted to touch her again, although wasn't sure how she would take it, especially at a time like this.

Sev stepped back into the room, absently looking over the armor in her hands. She blushed when she thought of kissing him again, mostly because she hadn't meant to. So she did mean everything she'd done, but expected more restraint of herself.

"All right, they're a little heavy, but they'll have to work. They might help us to disguise a little bit—," She trailed off when she looked up. Frodo eyed her somewhat curiously, and she simply blinked in response. She didn't know how to describe that expression save torn.

Frodo leaped up from place and embraced her hard. Her warmth flooded him, and he held her tighter. Her eyes widened as she dropped the armor, and she grabbed him as well. She didn't understand the sudden gesture, but responded enthusiastically.

"You came back for me," Frodo said slowly.

She nodded, then reached back and kissed his cheek. Warmth fluttered through him. "Of course I did. I never wanted to leave you. I was going to bury you before I left." She half snickered with a little bit of a sob. "That could have been interesting."

Frodo pulled away just enough to look at her. His arms still grasped her shoulders, and he didn't entirely want to let go. The tip of his nose touched against hers. "And you didn't take the Ring to Mount Doom."

Sev's gaze flickered. "You asked me not to. And Galadriel said that you were appointed this task."

Frodo backed away suddenly and grabbed her hand, the one with the scar, the one he had taken in the vision. She lifted an eyebrow, still surveying him curiously. He traced the scar, a little taken aback by his own impulse.

"You were there," he elaborated. "You saw the vision as well."

Sev felt she finally understood, and she nodded. "I was there. But I'm glad that wasn't my goodbye to you."

She waited only a moment. Frodo looked so content just then, but she itched to get moving. She bent down and handed him the armor a bit at a time. He accepted it with his free arm until it got too heavy, and he reluctantly released her hand. The warmth was cut off almost immediately, and the cold of Cirith Ungol broke over him like a strong wave of water.

"Come," she said, slipping the armor over her legs and torso. "We have a ways to go."

Frodo uneasily dressed in the armor as well. He let the helmet down onto his head. He feared the weight of it all, but the orcs were more intimidating.

Sev bound up her thick hair and rolled it on top of her head, although it was still messy as tight as she could get it. She carefully slipped the helmet over the top, although it took a few dozen tries before the result was comfortable and perhaps slightly tidy. She wrinkled her nose inside her helmet—it smelled awful.

"Smells like something died in here," she admitted. Then she glanced up at Frodo, and her eyes doubled in size when she realized his own eyes looked huge. The helmet emphasized them heavily; she couldn't help but stare. His eyes had been what caught her the first time, and to see them now she didn't dare look anywhere else for fear the amazement would snap.

Frodo peered back at her, and she shook her head. She extended a gloved hand, which he accepted somewhat confusedly. She led him down the stairs, assuming he still had a little of the effects left from Shelob's sting.

There were a great deal of stairs, to the extent that Frodo was grateful for her physical support until they reached the base. Then she released him and stepped out of the tower. He reached for her, but the Ring yanked on his neck. He didn't dare try again.

As they approached the end of the small mountain on which Cirith Ungol was built, Sev surveyed the land before them. The air smelled of sulfur dioxide. Fires lit up the countryside, and Mount Doom sputtered across the dark land. Barad-dur, fortress of Sauron with his eye at the top, stood some distance away from the mountain.

"Mordor," she breathed. Then her voice grew sarcastic. "Wonderful; we made it!"

Frodo didn't even catch the sarcasm. He shook his head; each fire below them—of which there were countless—represented an orc camp, or so he could see. "We'll never get through unseen."

Sev shrugged. "Well, let's at least get to the base of the mountain. Then we can be depressed about the fact that we are not, in fact, two hobbits in a peaceful land, nor two hobbits in a war-torn wasteland, but a hobbit and an anti-creature in a house of torture and ultimate demise."

Frodo stared at her strangely. "Indeed?"

She held up her hands in surrender. "You can be optimistic if you want, but you sound like you want to be depressed." She strode past him and began sliding down the slope. He followed a confused moment later.

They skidded down the length of loose stone to the mountain's base. Sev glanced around, a little lost for a plan. They couldn't do more than march forward and hoped they were convincing enough for the orcs in their armor.

That is, until a great cry arose in the general, rank air of Mordor and the torches began shifting forward.

Sev gasped, shaking Frodo's shoulder. He swayed with weakness; the Ring dragged at him, sawing into the back of his neck. He couldn't even look up without his eyes watering and burning. He lacked sleep, ached from exhaustion everywhere. But when he glanced up, hope poked him in the side.

"They're moving!" Sev said excitedly. The torches migrated towards the western border of Mordor, away from the volcano.

Sev grabbed Frodo's arm and began walking briskly down the path. She might have left him there to rest if he'd let go of the Ring. But he wouldn't, she knew, and he didn't seem able to walk either.

They didn't get very far before they heard clanking ahead of them. Sev abruptly halted, and Frodo stumbled into her. She held a hand up, catching his armor to keep him standing. She glanced back up the trail, then forward. The crunching of orc armor only grew closer as the moments passed, and she frantically tried to find something they could do to escape. The path behind them led to the main orc camp. She set him against the mountainside and peered over the other edge of the trail.

"Frodo, we can—," Sev paused. There was a hundred foot drop below them, too steep to be helpful. She slumped back. The orcs were close. "We can do nothing."

Frodo paused. They did have orc armor, if nothing else. "Nothing to be completely hidden." He grabbed her arm and squeezed her close to him, as though that would double their individual sizes into a collective creature and keep them better blended in. Sev couldn't breathe, but she could sense his tension despite how casually he slouched with her beside him. Anything to keep him comfortable she could manage at this point.

The army of orcs came clanking around the closest bend, only a few yards off of them, some minutes later. Sev relaxed when they didn't seem to notice the halflings, but stiffened when she heard a harsh voice . . . and a whip. She grabbed Frodo around the shoulders and clenched hard. The leading orc, dancing about the lines with a whip in his hand, cracked his weapon over them.

"Come on, you lazy rats!" Sev flinched when the whip made contact with her wrist. She dragged Frodo to his feet. The pain kept him from supporting himself. He also didn't entirely have the motivation to keep himself going, but Sev wouldn't watch him be beaten. The orc berated them again, and his whip snapped against the back of her neck. She wished in that moment that her hair had stayed down, but it could have given her away.

Frodo looped his arm around her shoulders; he couldn't carry himself. But he paused when his sleeve caught and bunched; his bare skin brushed her neck, and he felt the hot welt swelling up.

Sev yanked him into the line, a little hackled by the sting of the whip. She briskly moved forward, until Frodo's voice—weakened and rather pained—caught her sympathy. She stared down at him; he limped along with flickering eyelids.

"Sev," he gasped. He fingered the back of her neck, although he was trembling. Sev stiffened, dragging him higher than he'd been standing. He stared up at her, as though daring her to shift out of his touch. Although he might not have been able to tell if he stopped touching her: his fingers were coated in gauntlets. "Sev, you're injured."

Sev blew it off. "I'm fine," she insisted. "We've just got to get you out of here."

They were directed with their shuffling group to the main orc camp. Sev halted, and Frodo stumbled to a stop after her. At least they didn't have to walk anymore. She almost lowered him to the ground, but he seemed rather insistent on staying as upright as possible. Despite that, he dragged on her shoulders, slumping rather close to the earth below. She did her best to hold him up, but her welt didn't help. She slid her arm over his shoulder . . . but then a familiar energy began channeling into her. She frowned, then pulled her hand away from him to inspect it. Her eyes widened: her wrist and lower arm were slightly sticky with his blood.

Before she could study the wound, the harsh orc that had whipped her stepped forward. "Inspection!" he shouted roughly. Sev watched, horrified, as one of the orcs began shoving his way through the group, very closely staring at each orc as he went.

Sev's gaze flickered frantically: they had to move, potentially before the orc even looked at them, much less studied them up close.

Despite his muddle, Frodo realized they might need another outlet. He started sifting through ideas, but then a wave of pain hit him. Frodo blinked, exhausted. "Sev, it's so heavy." The Ring dragged harder against his neck. Sev stared down, then gasped lightly. Immediately she dropped one of her gloves and traced her finger along the Ring's chain. Frodo breathed harshly against a thick scrape of blood under the weight of the Ring. Her eyes narrowed as the sticky blood stained her skin.

Her eyes shot up to the inspecting orc. She subconsciously fingered the chain, shuddering at the realization that Frodo was hurt.

"Frodo, we have to get out of here."

Before she had even finished speaking, Sev's gaze met that of the orc inspector. Her eyes widened, and she prayed he wouldn't notice. But the orc guard roared when he saw her, and he began shoving through the rest of the army towards the halflings.

Sev turned this way and that, frantic. "Frodo, what do I do?"

Frodo quickly came to a conclusion on that. Orcs were rough, and he had no doubt if Sev started fighting—he didn't have the strength to at this point—that they would all gather, or at least start quarreling themselves simply because someone else had done so.

"Frodo!"

Frodo glanced up at her. "Hit me, Sev," he managed. "Start fighting."

Sev tensed, mostly with shock. "I'm not going to hurt you," she hissed.

Obstinate woman. Frodo nudged her hard. He could hear the orcs stirring around him; they had no time. "You have no choice. Hit me, Sev!"

Sev bit her lip and tried to dive in to it. But she restrained herself, no matter how desperate she consciously knew the situation was, as though deep down something knew she didn't want to hurt the hobbit. Frodo shook his head and threw himself into her knee. She winced at the impact, but continued with that level of force. She bit back a whimper: she didn't like hurting him. He doubled over, and groaned periodically.

Frodo found it much less unpleasant than she did: everything she bruised she healed immediately, even if the pain was sharp (although brief). The orcs finally crowded around them, roaring and cheering her on. A few smaller brawls broke out amongst the surrounding orcs, and Sev finally grabbed Frodo's shoulder and yanked him out of the way.

She heard the orc leader with his whip behind her as they raced away. "Break it up!" he roared. She stumbled when she heard the whip crack. Her welt spread again, not hit but reactant to just the psychological impact of her pain.

Sev dragged Frodo into a nearby tent and sat down abruptly. She breathed hard, but that was not why she stopped. She yanked him down beside her and removed her helmet. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, still slightly bunched. His gaze flickered as he surveyed her.

"Are you all right?" Sev traced her gloved hand over his helmet, then tipped his chin up with her free hand. She ran her fingers down the stripe of scar on his neck, rather hurried about it.

Frodo shook his head and grabbed her hand, taking it from the Ring's chain. He felt as though she might be getting addicted to the scar, if not the Ring. But then suddenly he missed the soothing warmth and healing of her touch. He set her hand down in his lap—she did not resist any movement he made—and slipped her fingers back up over his neck. "Sev, I'm fine. You did well, I do not pain from you." He didn't want to move, but he knew the longer he waited the more time the Ring had to take control. He moved to stand, her hand wrapped in his glove, but she stubbornly stayed sitting.

"Frodo, you must rest," she insisted. "I don't care what you tell me, I hit you harder than I've ever hit anything in my life." She bit her lip: saying that hurt. Realizing that snapping Gollum's arm hadn't been done with as much force as shoving her knee into Frodo's stomach hurt her terribly.

Frodo felt a small stab of pity and knelt down. He didn't understand why she cared for him so much, but he didn't have to rest. He cupped her cheek with a rough glove and brought her forehead to meet his own. They simply absorbed each other's presence for a quiet moment.

"Sev, the longer I have the Ring the more power I give it," he said gravely. "We must move on."

Sev finally conceded to move. She wrapped his arm around her shoulders, half carrying him the whole way to the mountain. Once they departed the tent, Mordor stretched out before them in a rocky, flat wasteland, with stones just large enough that their armor-shod feet slipped about. Frodo realized after a few hours that Sev was getting exhausted. Her breathing grew labored, and her feet slipped more and more frequently on the rocks. Sweat built up on her forehead and hands; not only did she not want to move anymore, she almost couldn't. Her lack of capability at this point surprised Frodo, until he realized that she was basically dragging him along, borne down by heat and exhaustion without anything to drain strength from, and carrying armor.

Frodo snapped away from her and tried to support her, but she wouldn't have it. She wouldn't have listened to any rationalization against him carrying the Ring, and he had the strength to say nothing. But he lagged behind soon enough; his legs quickly failed him.

Sev glanced at him, slowed for him. He only somewhat remained as far back as he did on purpose, but his own words haunted him: the longer he kept the Ring, the more vulnerable he became. This only put more pressure on him, only numbed his mind even more. He stumbled along as far as he could, but he quickly tired. He collapsed to the ground before he was even ready to give up.

When his armor crunched against the ground, Sev turned abruptly. She almost feared the worst until she realized the worst was truly the case: he couldn't move anymore. She raced to his side.

Frodo tore his helmet off; the beak made it easier. Sev threw her other glove aside and rubbed his hair back. Frodo's eyes flickered open and shut.

"It's so heavy," he managed.

Sev nodded sympathetically. "You must rest, Frodo." She knelt down by his side, and her fingers drifted over his neck. The scar there fed her enough that she could move. "Here; I'll take your armor. We don't need it anymore."

Frodo shook his head. "I'll take it. Come." He struggled to his feet as the Ring bore into his neck, driving his cut harder and deeper than it had been before Sev healed it. Sev followed him, scrambling across the rocks to keep up. His determination dragged him up a small rise. He threw his helmet, gloves, boots, and breastplate down into a small pool of lava; they were so close to the mountain. Sev followed suit, but Frodo took it from her before she even got to the top of the small hill. She opened her mouth to protest, but she collapsed to the stone. Frodo took the pack from her as well, keeping the water but throwing the rest. He retained her journal as well, slipping it into his white shirt.

Frodo conceded that they couldn't keep going like this. He and Sev dragged each other over to an outcropping in the rock, chosen by Sev because it could hide the two of them. She laid Frodo down beneath the outcropping, and she settled down a few inches away from him. Muddled, Frodo didn't care how she thought of him, and he burrowed into her side, nestling his head against her shoulder. She sighed, giving in slightly. She wrapped her arm around him and squeezed faintly.

The hobbit thought he was too warm until he sat by her side. The comfort of her presence chased away the heat of Mordor, and somehow—even though she wasn't cold—it comforted him.

Sev didn't know how to react. She felt fine, but she didn't want to make him move if he couldn't. She glanced up into the sky, hoping to see something comforting. But this was Mordor. All was dark, and clouds blocked every strip of recognizable sky. Normally Sev would have loved the cloud cover, but this was different. This caged and stifled Frodo, and she did not approve.

But then a light sparkle caught her eye, a glint of light she recognized. It looked like a star: Earendil, just like Frodo's eyes.

She fleetingly glanced down at him. "Frodo, look!" Frodo's gaze flickered up, and she pointed into the sky. To make room for him to see, her head backed down close to him. He peered past her for only a moment as she spoke. "Light," she said proudly. "Something so bright and pure, no amount of darkness can take it away." She turned and kissed his forehead gently. Her voice dropped. "Just like you. Did you know that?" She rubbed his shoulder.

Frodo breathed deeply in her arms. She continued to look up at the star, but he wanted her to look at him again. If they were going to make it out of Mordor, he needed her to help him. He wanted her to have the strength; he wanted to be capable. He reached up and nuzzled her cheek, trying to communicate what he couldn't in words, but then he realized she probably wouldn't pick up on it.

She abruptly turned to him. "Frodo?"

He shook his head, dizzy. Her warmth overwhelmed him. "We should get going," he muttered.

Sev stood slowly, then extended a hand to him and brought him along.

Their progress should have been easier without their armor and pack, but the Ring grew heavier and Sev grew weaker. Her blood drained away through the scar at her neck; the scab of it flaked away often, and more of her blood pulsed to feed it, to try and coat it. But the Ring broke her flesh permanently without binding it back like it had on her palm. She'd lost a lot of strength to that Ring, and only now began to feel the effects of it.

They stopped to rest again very soon, sooner than either of them would have liked. Frodo slipped his waterskin out and popped it open, but when he tipped it back only a few drops came out. He was parched and needed the energy. He slacked against the rock; hope dwindled like the hydration within him. Sev produced her waterskin immediately and handed it to him. He eyed it warily, then turned his gaze to her.

"Take mine," she insisted. "Go on."

Frodo hesitantly accepted it from her and tipped it back, allowing a little bit of the cool liquid to trickle down his dry, itchy throat. Then he paused. "There isn't much left," he said hoarsely. "Will we have enough to get back?"

Sev waved it aside, trying to appear nonchalant. Her voice shook and cracked despite her efforts. "We won't need much for the journey back." Although that should have implied nothing, he caught her tone change.

Frodo's brow furrowed worriedly. "Sev, you are coming back with me." He grabbed her wrist. "You are."

Sev sighed and backed away from him, but his grip was like a vice in desperation and pain. He dragged her close to him; she lowered her gaze as his face neared hers. "My only purpose now is to get you home and safe. If the Ring is destroyed, I will be content to die here." She swallowed; that was more of a lie than she had thought at first, but she did not remedy it. She barreled ahead. "I've lost so much blood to the Ring, I don't know how long I will be able to keep going. Even if I did go back to the Shire with you, I don't know if I would last long enough to . . . to be with you."

Frodo shook his head intently. He looked so young, she thought. The waterskin fell to the ground, forgotten, and his fingers framed her shoulders, probing as though he had already lost her. "You're coming back with me."

She didn't want to let him go. She stared at those brilliant blue eyes, those eyes that had caught her attention before but now held infinitely more than she could ever find again in any form of life. She would feel sorry to abandon him. She leaned close to him, her head resting on his shoulder. She did not embrace him, however, as he did her in that moment. She scooped up the waterskin, then stood. She extended a hand to him.

"We've got to finish this. You matter more than me than I do, and if you want me to live you'd better get out of here alive," she asserted.

Frodo accepted her hand again, and she pulled him to his feet. Frodo carried forward with a little more conviction, but it would soon fade, he knew. The Ring was strong, and he'd been going at it all for so long. He tried to focus on everything he'd ever been through with Sev, and the Ring's impact fell back. He found himself walking faster.

But even as his confidence rose, Sev fell farther and farther away from him. Her legs would not carry her so fast, but she did not complain: if his burden was lighter, it mattered not what happened to her. She felt her conviction to live slipping away, but only slightly. She had to watch him walk into the mountain, had to watch the Ring melt. Then she could succumb to her pain and die as she had always wished.

But then Frodo would need to be safely out of Mordor.

As thoughts battled and stirred in both halflings, Sauron felt the Ring close by. He turned his eye towards them, despite the battle he would soon have to direct coming from the Black Gate to the west. He stared down at a close patch of jutting rock.

Sev froze when Sauron shifted. His voice returned to her, hissing and inviting. _Come. Share your blood with me; you and I will rule this world. You will be a great one. You can save Frodo in such a place of power. Perhaps I will forgive him if you do as I say. You must come to me. I will find you if you do not surrender. And then I will kill him. I will pull him apart piece by piece before your very eyes . . . and force you to feed me._

 _Come out, little halfling._

She ran to Frodo and grabbed him by the shoulders desperately. Horrible heat and pain rose in her spine when Sauron's gaze began to track her. "Frodo, get down!"

Frodo collapsed under her sudden energy; he was fragile as parchment, and she berated herself the moment she shoved down on him. Sauron's gaze skimmed them. The Ring branded against Frodo's heart, and he grasped at it desperately. His breath came in ragged gasps.

Sev cupped his cheek, rubbing repeatedly. "Frodo! Frodo, are you all right?"

The hobbit swallowed; he couldn't respond otherwise. Sauron's eye passed from them, and he slacked over the ground.

Sev lay there, stunned, for some time. Then she stood. Frodo tried to scramble to his feet, but he could only get onto his knees with the burning of the Ring still on his chest. Sev stretched out her rather long fingers and grabbed him by the torso, lifting him as best she could to his feet. He managed to get himself up with help, and they continued forward.


	40. I Can't Carry It For You

The sky grew darker as they walked along the harsh ground. Rocks scraped up their bare feet, and Sev's blood receded more quickly than before. And with a lack of sustenance, her blood was not sufficient to bind up her wounds. They bled continuously, leaving a faint trail on the stone.

Mount Doom sloped above them soon enough. Sev glanced at Frodo. If he could make it, she could too. He hadn't had food since Gondor. But their goal seemed so far away . . .

Frodo began up the steep rise. He couldn't afford to back down now: they were so close. The Ring dragged hard on his neck, tugged and yanked down and back as hard as it could. They were too close to home, and too close to destruction. He shook it away and kept going.

When Sev passed him on the slope, not gaining energy save from the source of death in sight, Frodo noticed the trail of black behind her. His hope that she would return home crashed, and the Ring finally brought him, wriggling with weakness, to the ground. He twitched against the rocks, trying to shove himself forward. If he hurried perhaps she would survive.

She collapsed on the ground just ahead of him. No, neither of them could make it.

Mount Doom rumbled mockingly above, shedding a few plumes of smoke. Comets of lava sprang from the mountain peak and slowly descended into the horizon. Frodo dizzily looked up; his hazy vision picked up very little, but he could see the gateway into Mount Doom below the peak. Far below the peak, closer to him than he had realized.

He strained to move forward. The Ring challenged him, not anticipating its destruction. Frodo fought back. He had to do this for the Shire, for Samwise Gamgee, for Gandalf.

For Sev.

Frodo dragged himself up the mountainside. He resorted to grabbing handfuls of stone, forcing himself over the pebbles and sharp rocks. But that wasn't even enough. He soon collapsed again; his motivation could only take him so far.

Sev wrenched herself to his side. She reached for him, and instinctively her fingers found his neck. His scar drained to her. She exhaled with a shiver: it felt as though she were holding her hand over a furnace in the icy tundra. Then new tingles arrived, like dipping her hand in icy water on a scathing morning in Mordor. She hauled herself up to his side with tremendous effort. She grabbed his unconscious, fragile body, lifting him by the torso into her arms. Her jaw rested on his cheek for a moment while she received strength.

The Ring awakened Frodo, sawing back the scar Sev had taken, as though determined to bleed him to death. Sev glared down at it, then turned Frodo over to face her. He looked so tired, but she remembered a time—once his eyes cracked open slightly—that was not so.

But she couldn't say if he remembered.

"Do you remember the Shire, Frodo?" she asked. She tried to remember all the details she could, scrambling through the darkness surrounding her to find times that were happier. "It'll be spring soon. Gaffer and all the other farmers will be out planting barley, and the birds will be nesting in the tree above Bag End." She swallowed as tears trickled out of her eyes. Some dropped against Frodo's cheek, and he shifted in her grasp, trying to reach up. But it would not be. "The orchards will be in blossom, the ones that we loved to read in." A small sob escaped, but she bit the rest back. "They'll be having the first of the strawberries with cream. Do you remember the taste of strawberries, Frodo?"

Frodo paused. He liked strawberries, but she didn't. Wait; after a hesitation he reasserted that he did like strawberries. But why? He tried to feel the sweet, trickling juice on his tongue, the succulent crunch in his mouth, but it would not come.

"No, Sev," he admitted with a small sigh. "I can't recall the taste of food . . ." When he thought about it. "Nor the sound of water . . ." His memories were fading fast, falling to the power of the darkness around him. "Nor the touch of grass . . . running about after dark . . ."

Sev bit her lip, then brought him up to her. She kissed his forehead, tangled her fingers in his hair. She felt like he could crumble or snap, shatter like glass, in her grip if she wasn't careful. _Don't break, Frodo, don't break._

Frodo's eyes widened, fear crowding out everything. Only the mild pulse of Sev's warmth surrounding him kept him grounded. "Now nothing stands between me . . . and the Ring of Fire!" The Ring blazed against his chest, and the power of Sauron flooded his ears louder than his own heartbeat. He trembled in Sev's grip. "He will find me. He is always there! And now I can see him . . . with my waking eyes!"

Sev refused to succumb to the despairing agony within. Her resolve crumbled until she realized that Frodo was in more pain now than perhaps she'd ever been. That wasn't quite true: they were about equivalent at this point, but that only made her bubble more furiously. Her eyebrows narrowed, and her hands tensed around Frodo. He began to breathe hard, suddenly afraid of her. The blood in her eyes thickened.

"Then let us be rid of that accursed Ring," she seethed. "Come on, Frodo!" Then she glanced up at the mountain; that door was too far. "I can't carry it for you . . ." Sev stared back down at him, surveying the full length of him. "And I probably can't carry you. But I can try!" She clenched her jaw and grabbed his wrists. She launched him over her back, and immediately collapsed under him. But then a patch of energy fizzled on one of her shoulders. A second patch, three times as powerful, ignited lower on her back. A strength she had never known before surged through her, and she righted herself, stumbling only slightly under Frodo. Her gaze rose, determined, to the door. To her target.

"For Frodo," she hissed.

Sev dragged herself deliberately up the hill as strength flooded her back, and subsequently her legs, where it burned immediately. She walked faster and faster. She could feel the light coming, Frodo's burden growing smaller and smaller. Leastwise in her mind; it wasn't gone yet, not quite.

Frodo didn't dare ask how she could carry him up the slope. All he knew was that some minor pains—that from Shelob and from his Morgul stab—were fading away, perhaps with her closeness. Warmth filled him, replacing his pain.

Her feet moved even faster when she realized that the door was fairly close. A clear trail sliced through the jagged rock in steps up to the tunnel of fire. She straightened, nearly dropping Frodo. He scrambled helplessly over her back.

"Frodo, we're so close!" she breathed, almost laughing with the sudden rise of hope she had never felt. Perhaps he would live. Perhaps they could destroy this Ring. Even if he didn't come away perfectly healthy, as long as he ended happy she could live with herself.

Before she'd even gone a few paces, a hiss sounded above the halflings.

"Tricksy hobbitses."

Frodo struggled in Sev's grip. Gollum was too close for comfort. He leaped onto Frodo a few seconds after speaking and began yanking, searching for the Ring. "It's mine, precious!" he cackled. Sev strained to hold Frodo, but Gollum was too strong for her. Frodo tumbled from her back, and she collapsed from the momentum. The energy that had channeled through her back now slipped away.

"Frodo!" she called out.

Gollum wrestled him down the side of the mountain. Frodo scrambled, fighting back, but he could do little. Being carried up had helped, but Sev couldn't do everything. Gollum strained for the Ring, but it fell to the back of Frodo's neck and down near his spine. The creature hissed, then wrapped his fingers around Frodo's throat.

The hobbit strained to speak. "Smeagol, you swore! You swore on the Precious! Smeagol promised!"

Gollum snickered; his eyes and grip hardened. "Smeagol lied."

Sev leaped up, fear and anger bubbling deep down. She grabbed Gollum's shoulders and yanked him off of Frodo. The creature turned around and shoved her back, but Sev's grip on him was strong enough that they both went rolling. Frodo strained to his feet to jump down and help.

Sev shook her head. "Frodo, go! Destroy the Ring! Go, now!"

Frodo turned to run, but then Gollum grabbed Sev's shoulder and sank his teeth in it. She cried out.

Frodo scrambled to a halt. "Sev!"

She shook her head wildly as blood raced to her shoulder to quell the injury. "Frodo, get out of here!" She brought up a bunched fist, almost unable to aim for the pain gnawing at her, and smacked Gollum hard in the nose. The creature shrieked and broke away, clutching his face.

Frodo hesitantly turned and raced up the remainder of the way, dodging through rocks with an energy he didn't even have. It frightened him when he realized the Ring was carrying him up. Why, he didn't know, but he had to get to the top regardless of how.

Sev turned to pursue Frodo, but Gollum snarled and reached for her. She shouted unintellegibly, determined to follow her hobbit. She yanked her blade from its sheath and nicked Gollum's stomach. She left a decent mark, although not remotely fatal, and Gollum doubled over away from her. She only hoped it would stall him enough to leave them until the Ring was gone.

Frodo glanced back periodically when he reached the long platform over which he thought to drop the Ring. He wanted Sev to be here for it: perhaps she would be proud of him. It was a silly thought—or so he considered fleetingly—but somehow it appealed to him. He also rationalized that he wanted to make sure she was all right.

When she did not appear for some time, Frodo raced back to the opening to find her. She stumbled inside; he could see her, but she couldn't see him.

"Frodo!" she called out into the smoke. The mountain trembled angrily, and she stumbled about with the momentum. Frodo reached for her, but she fell right past him. "Frodo, where are you?!"

Frodo grabbed her shoulders. Her eyes shot wide open with surprise, and smoke cascaded in. She coughed and rubbed her eyes with a finger each. Frodo tensed around her.

She sighed with relief. "You're all right," she breathed.

He nodded hurriedly.

She frowned. "Where's the Ring?"

Frodo nodded again. "I've got it. I just thought you might like to see."

Sev's eyes shot wide open again. She and Frodo raced to the edge, but Sev kept her distance. She didn't want to fall in, or push him in. She doubted he would let himself go in with the Ring.

Frodo slipped the chain from around his neck, ready to be through with this burden. He held the Ring up over the fiery river flowing hundreds of feet below. He glared at the Ring, as though saying goodbye in some bitter way. But then the glimmer of the mountain echoing upon the flawless gold of the Ring caught him. The contrast between its smooth curve and his dirtied hands confused him, made the Ring more beautiful than ever before. It tantalized him, tugged and pulled with persistence.

It had been a part of his life for so long, he didn't know how to drop it. His fingers wouldn't move.

Fear clambered through Sev and froze her: Frodo wasn't letting go. He just kept on inspecting the Ring.

"Frodo, what are you doing?!" she begged. "Throw it in the fire!"

Frodo slowly, steadily, brought the Ring closer to his face. It drew his eyes to its beauty, its glimmer. It could turn him invisible, allow him to escape the pressures of life itself. He shook his head; its offers, its insistence, made no sense.

Somehow he couldn't let go, no matter what logic he used. His feelings were all directed at this One Ring.

"What are you waiting for?!" Sev pleaded endlessly now. "Just let it go!"

The Ring whispered, caressed urgently. It had become a person Frodo knew somehow, a creature in his life that he couldn't drop. He didn't quite pity it, and he didn't quite love it. He didn't quite want it.

But somehow it had ignited all those feelings within.

He turned to Sev, his eyes darkened. She gawked. His gaze looked black; his voice, dark and menacing, echoed about the mountain and quieted the rumblings of Mount Doom.

"The Ring is mine."


	41. Succumbing

Sev's heart shattered when Frodo smiled wickedly at her. The Ring was proud of him, happy with what he'd done. Frodo snapped the Ring off of its chain and discarded the latter. He stared right up at Sev's black blood and knew what he needed to do: he needed to get the Ring around her finger, to strengthen him and his Precious.

He slipped the Ring over his own finger to get close and crept towards her.

The moment he vanished Sev gasped. "Noo!" She leaped for him, and Frodo reached down for her. But before he could touch her, Gollum crept up behind her and slammed a rock against the back of her neck. She slacked away from Frodo. Gollum stared up at the footprints in the dust of Mount Doom, and he leaped up onto Frodo's shoulders.

The Ring cried out through Frodo. It didn't need Gollum right then. Frodo tried to throw him off, tried to duck for Sev. But he couldn't quite reach her.

Sev's eyes flickered open, and she rubbed the back of her neck. Her blood flowed weakly, possibly almost out by then. She stared up at Gollum, who was suspended in the air. She gasped and scrambled to stand.

"Gollum, get off!" she cried. "Leave him alone, please!" But she couldn't move for weakness. She collapsed to the ground, trying to drag in her strength. She desperately strained to get to Frodo.

Finally Gollum grabbed Frodo's hand in the squabbling. He felt the Ring under his hands, then chomped hard on the finger where the Ring was placed. Frodo slacked into visibility, almost in too much pain to scream. He collapsed onto his side as Gollum cast his finger away. The creature had eyes only for the Ring. He gawked at it, shocked—disbelieving—that he could hold it. The smooth gold lit up his world. He began leaping about, dancing and celebrating with nothing to mar his ecstasy. He shrieked and whooped.

Frodo gripped his finger. Sev peered over dizzily and dragged herself to his side. She glanced down at his hand, thoroughly confused. _A lot of blood_ , she mused. She reached for him, but at her touch Frodo snapped out of the Ring's influence abruptly.

He sat up past her, sickened at what he had just done. Despair and shock slithered threw him, but he threw them back. "Smeagol!" he cried out. The creature did not look at him. "Throw it in; let it go!" Frodo scrambled to his feet, and Sev did her best to hold him up, bracing his torso with her hands. She lifted to her knees. "Smeagol, for both our sakes, let it go!"

Gollum wouldn't listen to him. Frodo charged forward before Sev could tell him it wasn't safe, that he was wounded and she could heal him. Frodo grabbed the Ring, determined to end the suffering of both of them, or at least destroy the source. Gollum hissed at him, yanking back on the Ring. Frodo fought him for it, bitter and sorrowful with everything it had done to all of them. If the Ring was gone the world would be better off. Gollum shrieked angrily: Frodo pulled one last time, and he wrenched the Ring from Gollum's grasp. He moved to throw it in, and the creature knocked into him in an attempt to grab the Ring.

Sev gaped in horror as Gollum, Frodo, and the Ring all fell over the edge.

Frodo grabbed an outcropping of rock at the last second, and he reached for Gollum. "Smeagol!" he shouted, but the creature didn't listen. He grabbed the Ring out of the air, falling heedlessly towards the Crack of Doom. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating with dread Gollum's final screams . . . but they never came. Gollum went silently. When Frodo looked again, the Ring settled on the surface of the magma, pristine and patient.

Sev scrambled to the edge of the rock, her heart pounding in her ears. She at least wanted to see him one last time, but not if he was in so much pain. She wrestled with herself until she reached the edge. She saw no sign of Gollum and knew Frodo was done for.

But then she saw him, hanging off of the cliff. He looked up at her, his motivation draining away.

"Sev," he muttered.

Both of their gazes shot to the Ring. Sev dropped her hand down to him, stretching as far as she could.

"Frodo!"

He looked back up at her. His eyes were pained. His grip slacked, and he nearly fell in. Sev inhaled sharply.

"Please don't let go," she babbled. She reached harder for him. "Don't let go. I promise never to let you be hurt again." She paused. "I will guard you to the death. Please come out. Please don't let go." She swallowed. "Don't leave me."

Frodo glanced back down at the Ring. He felt nonchalant when he stared down at the little circlet of gold, emblazoned now with its language of Mordor. It beckoned him.

He looked up to say goodbye to Sev, but when he saw the tears flooding her eyes he knew he couldn't fall. Realization, consciousness, trickled back into him and he shook his head.

"I won't let go, and I won't leave you." He swallowed. "I want to go home with you."

Sev breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Frodo swung his blood-drenched hand up to grab hers for perhaps the final time. She yanked him up the cliff, energized by the heavy bite to his finger. The new tip of his pointer finger, or what was left of it, quickly began to mend over. The blood did not go away.

Sev trembled as she brought him into her arms, embracing him desperately. He sat there, completely incapable of movement, as she rubbed her hands all over his arms and back. She cupped his face in her hands and desperately kissed his forehead and his nose, dotted kisses along his jaw. She wrapped her arms around him and held as tightly as she could.

"You're alive. Again!" She chuckled a little disbelievingly.

Frodo nodded, exhausted and dizzied. He collapsed in her arms. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck, and she drained the scar there as lava built up angrily around them. Sev scrambled to her feet when the bridge began to crumble, and she dragged Frodo with her as the world broke down around them. Frodo finally realized what was going on, but felt rather light and almost carefree with the Ring gone.

The bridge collapsed entirely as the halflings leaped out the front of Mount Doom. Lava exploded out of Mount Doom's mouth, and Frodo barely made it out of the way. He nearly fell over on the rock from lightheadedness, but Sev grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him along with her.

She finally slowed to a halt on an outcropping she hoped would be somewhat, temporarily, safe. Frodo stood, gasping, behind her. He felt perfectly weightless, like he could soar all the way back to the Shire and carry her with him.

"Oh, Sev, it's gone!" Sev laughed lightly, tears streaming out of her eyes, at the sudden happiness in his voice. "It's done!" He gawked disbelivingly, blinked uncontrollably. He didn't care about the scars, the dirt, the volcano, the darkness.

Sev nodded. "You're right, Frodo," she admitted. "It's over now."

Frodo beamed at her as though the greatest miracle in his life had just taken place, and another was about to come. Sev cocked her head, amazed by the sudden joy so deep within him. It entranced her, and she inched close to him.

But then a wave of lava licked at Frodo's feet, and Sev initially squawked. She yanked Frodo away, and he shied with her. They both collapsed into a sitting position, away from the river of fire. Frodo sank back into the stone near him. He didn't have to try to block out the spewing volcano and trembling earth around him. The shadow and fire was gone, the One Ring had vanished, and Sauron no longer tormented him.

He felt peace.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. His voice rasped with wistful gentility. "I can see the Shire." His mind's eye skimmed Mordor, leaped over the lands they had traveled, and escaped back home. He traveled on wings over every little piece of his beloved home. Sev watched him think, amazed and relieved beyond belief. She bit her lip, and tears flowed down her face. "Brandywine River," Frodo whispered. "West Farthing . . . Bag End . . . Gandalf's fireworks . . . the lights in the party tree." He swallowed back Sev's name, but that truly was what his imagination honed in on. He moved on.

Sev sighed, remembering that party. "Rosie Cotton, dancing with Sam."

"Pippin, Merry . . ." Frodo continued.

Sev swallowed a lump in her throat. She knew why she remembered that night so well. "Frodo Baggins," she whispered reverently. She eyed him, surveyed all of him very carefully. "He was so happy that night." She could see him, content and safe, dancing with a merry brightness in his eyes. What a contrast to the scarred hobbit before her, cloaked in dirt and ashes, streaming with blood and struggling to breathe. She turned away, breathing her dying wish. "If ever I was to marry someone, it would have been him." She prayed to Willation, begged him; her pleas would not remain silent. Her voice escalated. "It would have been him!"

Frodo's eyes shot wide open as he watched her huddle into a small ball. He slowly pushed himself up off the ground towards her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, comforted by her warmth and assured of her affection. She cuddled against him, not quite conscious.

He stared down at her closed eyes. "I'm glad to be with you, Seville." He turned his gaze up to the mountain before them and knew they couldn't survive this. "Here at the end of all things." She didn't respond more than nestling closer, condensing beneath his arm, and laying a hand over his heart where the Ring used to be. He reached down and lifted her face to look at him. He kissed her forehead softly as he'd done every night at home, then embraced her with both arms. She did not move.

She'd failed him. They were dying.

But at least the Ring was gone.

At least Frodo was hers again.

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	42. Answer Me

Sev awakened to hear the call of eagles above her. She saw Frodo lying on his back eight inches away or so. A claw locked carefully around him, and she scrambled to a sitting position as it dragged him into the open air.

"Come back! Hey; he's not yours! I didn't come this far just to let you eat him!" She was still surrounded by lava, but by some miracle they had not yet died. She looked up to a bright, sunny breach in the clouds, and another eagle swept down towards her. She frantically backed away and nearly fell off the outcropping to melt, but the eagle clamped its claw around her and took off, quickly catching up to its companion.

The claw did not stay tight around Sev for long. She stood abruptly, swaying from the unsteady lack of ground that now bore her feet. The claw opened and relaxed enough that she could walk freely about.

They quickly caught up to the next eagle, and Sev stared down at the open claw there. Frodo's eyes flickered open and closed uncertainly. She braced herself, rolled her shoulders, and prepared to leap.

She bit her lip. At least she would only die if she fell. Frodo would be fine; she just didn't want to be alone. It was the most ridiculous thing she could do in that moment, but she was impulsive enough and couldn't have cared less about her own life. She threw herself from the claws of her eagle. The eagle screeched, glancing this way and that. Sev grabbed the scale of the talon of Frodo's eagle, staring down at the ground far below. She was afraid to fall. She wanted to talk to Frodo again after what had happened through this whole adventure with the Ring, enough that her pulse raced at the sight of gray earth thousands of feet below.

Sev scrambled into the eagle's grip. Her own eagle spotted her, then relaxed and banked away. Sev settled uncertainly against her new talon, then turned her attention to Frodo. Her gaze softened, and her strain to keep ahold of the eagle slackened. She knelt over him in the huge claw and reached over to brush his hair back. He tossed slightly under her touch.

"We're going home," she whispered.

She might have thought they were dead, that it was too heavenly a thing to see him breathing. She laid her hand on his chest, felt the swell of his lungs, listened to the gentle thrum of his heart. Tears trickled to her eyes.

"If I was to marry anyone . . ." She stood and wrapped her arms around the eagle's leg. Her head slacked to the side as she watched him rest.

She fell asleep standing up. Her body was running out of sustenance; the scar at her neck continued to pour, and it made her exhausted. She decided not to care despite that.

The world soon grew solid, and yet she couldn't help but be dizzy. The eagles had set her down somewhere, but she did not know this place. This wasn't home. She reached out, not ready to open her eyes, not certain what was going on at all. She couldn't feel Frodo, only smooth stone.

Sev's eyes slowly rolled open. They widened abruptly. White stone surrounded her on all sides, and it looked like she'd been set on a balcony of some kind. But that did not astonish her. Fears spiked within her when she saw Frodo being taken away by a white-clad figure and a blond elf.

"Hey!" Sev strained to her feet and leaped forward, but she collapsed from sudden exhaustion. Her eyes flickered as she stared up at the men before her . . . and she gawked when they turned to her.

"Gandalf? Legolas?"

Gandalf chuckled. Sev shook her head wildly, confused. He looked exactly like Gandalf, but he was all white. Gandalf the White, she assumed. He couldn't be classified as gray anymore. Legolas smiled courteously, but the fear in his eyes was evident.

"It's good to see you," Sev started, but she hardly managed the rest of her sentence for amazement. "But how on Earth did you survive?!"

Gandalf smiled. "A story for another day, my dear Seville." He turned away, still bearing Frodo in his arms. Sev scrambled after them, but Gandalf held up his hand.

"Frodo is not well, and neither are you," he said sternly. "I've sent for Pippin and Merry, and I have assigned the princess of Rohan to look after you."

Sev crossed her arms. "I don't care about me, but I thank you. What are you doing with him? I'm a little tired of people taking him places as though they owned him, particularly when he's too exhausted to resist them."

Gandalf blinked, a little perplexed. Sev rationalized that the Ring and Gollum had been trying to control him long enough that she'd grown protective, and also that she was being too possessive. She took a physical step back and opened her eyes. "But I'm not just going to wait here."

"You won't keep up," Gandalf muttered. He motioned to Legolas to keep moving, and the two of them continued into a stone doorway.

"I don't trust you!" Sev called out after them. She slipped uncertainly along the stones, trying to pursue them without much luck. She zipped behind them around white, grand corridors, as though they were in a palace or some such. Finally Legolas handed Frodo off to Gandalf and turned back to Sev. She halted abruptly, then put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.

"Legolas, you must understand." Then she paused. "You survived."

Legolas nodded, then knelt down and put his hand cautiously on her shoulder. "If this is because I don't trust you, I'm sorry," he began.

Sev smiled. She had missed Legolas. "No."

"But you just said you don't trust either of us."

"Only because you were carrying Frodo!" Sev threw a hand in the air. "Legolas, he matters more to me than anything." She moved to shove past him, but Legolas held her back.

"Seville, Gandalf will take care of him," Legolas assured.

Sev shook her head, tension spreading throughout her. "Every time I've lost Frodo since we left the Shire, it's because he's in trouble. Please let me pass."

Legolas sighed. "Seville, it's time to let go for a moment. You must heal, and I must tell you that I'm sorry I thought you a dark creature."

"But I am one!" Sev cried. "I may not try to harm people, but I am what I am, and you saw that even before I did." She stared up at him. "Either you will befriend me or you won't, but I've accepted my paradigm if you refuse to forgive me my initial nature."

"Seville—,"

Sev held up a hand. "That name is too dark, Legolas. Call me Sev if you wish to see me differently."

Legolas let his hand fall from her shoulder. "I only mean to say that you are welcome in my home." He breathed somewhat shakily. "As I've gone through this journey . . ." He paused. "I suppose I shall tell you when all stories are being told. Come. You must heal."

Sev nodded in thanks and raced right past him.

"Gandalf!"

The wizard had only made it to the end of the hall and began unlocking a nearby door. He had Frodo slung over one shoulder, and he looked up past the hobbit at Sev.

"Seville, leave him be."

"I'm sure I could heal him every bit as much as you could," Sev retorted as she tore briskly towards him. She stopped before the door as Gandalf stepped in. She reached for Frodo, but the wizard glared at her sternly. "I swore an oath!" she persisted. "And that oath did not burn with the Ring nor did it fly away with the eagles."

Gandalf lifted an eyebrow, and she almost thought he might change his mind. But he simply shook his head. "You are under no obligation to care for Frodo again until no one more attuned to the light than yourself is capable." With that, he closed the door behind him.

Unspeakable fear built up within Sev. Frodo had fallen into the hands of those that did not trust her, and she worried for it. She banged against the door, jiggled the knob, did anything she could, until she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Sev?"

Sev whipped around. Pippin and Merry stood there; the former had spoken.

She gasped, delighted to see them. She leaped into Pippin's arms, straining to breathe.

"It's so good to see you!" she cried. She then turned to Merry; he held her tightly, squeezed almost comically before he would let her go. She pointed at the door, scrambling to it. "They've taken Frodo! Help me get in!"

She swayed dizzily and nearly crashed into the ground. Pippin ducked and caught her before she cracked against the floor. He nodded to Merry, and the latter lifted her into Pippin's arms. She fell unconscious there, and Pippin carried her into the nearest available room he could find.

As he walked he realized that he had perhaps enjoyed the adventure through Rohan and Isengard with Merry and Sam . . . but when he held Sev in his arms—although he did not love her—he'd missed something. Life had been fine and fleeting, but now he wanted something sweet and fragile to go home to. He wanted somebody to hold, somebody that would be sentimental in his pain, which was infrequent but it happened.

Pippin carefully laid Sev in a white fluffy bed and sat back. Merry eyed his friend curiously; Pippin usually wasn't so docile or wistful. Then again, the entire journey from the Shire to Minas Tirith had been a life-changing one.

"Pip?" Merry asked quietly.

Pippin turned his gaze to Merry. "Merry . . . did you ever think that we should have gotten us some lasses before we left home?"

Merry stifled a guffaw. He had not been expecting that sort of sentiment. "We've had plenty of little lasses. Those tweens are quite something, you know." He nudged his friend.

Pippin shook his head slowly, although grinned a little. "I mean real lasses. Lasses that really care about you, that cry when you leave home and want you back, and flutter their soft little hands when you're in trouble. That want you not just because you're charming and perfect, but because they love you."

Merry didn't really know what to say. He just put his arm around his friend and squeezed a little bit.

"We've fought wars, Pippin. We can at least find somebody like that for you."

Pippin blinked. "And not you?"

Merry smirked and looked around. "That won't be hard at all. I think I'll find a challenge before I do something simple like that."

Mostly for the night, Eowyn of Rohan tended to Sev. Faramir came in periodically, and Sev was pleased (with what she thought a wicked pleasure) that they would stare at each other in a rather possessed, giddy, loving sort of way. Faramir greeted Sev fleetingly, but Eowyn was far kinder. She told Sev she was improving quickly, and periodically checked on Frodo for Sev.

But when Eowyn was taken to other things, Sev decided to sneak out of bed. Eowyn had plenty of cuts, so when she tended to Sev she did supply her with actual energy. Faramir did the same, for he had been in battle recently. Sev got a lot of sustenance from him.

Although confused by the black blood and crumbling scab, Eowyn ended up binding Sev's neck, and the blood flow halted slightly. The liquid quickly melted through the bandages as Sev had expected, but at least it was locked away enough under her jaw that most people wouldn't see it.

Sev snuck out of bed once all had left her. She slipped to the door, but when she opened it Pippin and Merry nearly walked in over her.

Merry eyed her skeptically. "Looks like you're up early."

Sev frowned. "Not any earlier than you. What time is it?"

Pippin shrugged. "It's three hours before dawn. Gandalf said to tell you that you need to sleep for the day before you can see Frodo. He hasn't awakened yet."

Sev flinched at the mention of Gandalf's name. She had feared something like this would happen. She sighed and nodded, ready to back down. She couldn't get into that room and keep an eye on Frodo if she tried. But then she saw, between the shoulders of the two hobbits in front of her, Gandalf slip into Frodo's room. She scrambled between Pippin and Merry. Protests followed her as she ducked into the door, and Gandalf closed it behind her. Apparently he had not noticed her come in.

The wizard sat down at Frodo's bedside. Sev couldn't see the hobbit's face (Aragorn sat in the way on the bed). She could just see one of his hands, pale and draped in a monstrous white sleeve. It rested on thick blankets of white. No less light than he deserved, Sev considered. She almost felt too dark and too unworthy to be inside. She cringed in place. How could anything so light have accepted and wanted her for so long? Having Gandalf, also white, dislike her was too confusing. Did light reject her or not?

When she took a step forward, Aragorn and Gandalf looked up. Aragorn looked a little surprised at first, but Sev immediately turned her gaze to the wizard. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. They could either let her in or throw her out.

Gandalf abruptly reached forward and grabbed the back of her shirt collar, dragging her out the door. She struggled quietly so as not to wake Frodo, but it was no use. Gandalf plopped her down on the ground and nearly shut the door.

"Seville—confound it all, you need a last name . . ." Gandalf muttered. "Seville, how can I make it clear to you that he is not well enough for you to enter?"

Sev glowered. "You can't heal him, Gandalf," she said gravely. She began solemn, but her voice grew rapid. "I can. You may have to throw me out after, but I promise, I can do it! I can make him well again. If he's about to die—,"

Gandalf grabbed her hand and knelt down. "Seville, he will live," he asserted.

Sev bit her lip hard, and her eyes squeezed shut.

"Do you promise?" Her whisper was accompanied by a slight drop of blood on her tongue.

Gandalf nodded. "Seville, he's not in a fatal condition at all. He's all right. Trust me."  
Sev let her eyes flicker open. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she gently embraced the wizard. "Gandalf," she whimpered. She buried her face in his shoulder. "Gandalf, I can't just leave him. Please take care of him."

This was the first time she had ever done anything remotely more than formal in Gandalf's presence, and it took him aback. He embraced her as well, rubbing her tiny back. "My dear Seville."

"It hurts," she managed. "Please don't make me leave him."

Gandalf pulled away. "We're doing what's best for him, little one. Now go rest. I'll awaken you when he's ready to receive visitors."

Sev opened her mouth to tell him she wouldn't wait that long, but he clapped her shoulder and turned away before she could say anything. He and Aragorn emerged a few minutes later, and Gandalf locked the door behind him before they walked away. He shot Sev a pitying look, but didn't open the door.

Sev slipped to the window at the end of the hall and creaked it open. Chances were excellent this would be the easiest way to get to Frodo; likely they would air out his room to keep him healthy. She glanced around to ensure that no one was watching and slipped out onto the exterior walls of the building. She inhaled sharply at the city far, far below, then closed her eyes and forced her feet across to the nearest window.

Sure enough, Frodo's window was wide open, probably to let light in as well as air. Sev slipped inside very gently. Her feet padded against the smooth, wooden floor, and she hoped Frodo couldn't hear anything.

Frodo's dreams were white and murky, but cold. As she approached warmth covered him. He longed to see it, feel it substantially. Despite the strength of his desire his body would not awaken.

Sev stood over him, caressed his forehead carefully. Frodo relished in the touch, moaning lightly. She slipped a soft hand over his heart, and he grabbed for it. He pressed down on it to make the touch—the warmth—stronger. She smiled weakly; she couldn't abide watching him so vulnerable. She reached down and kissed his forehead. He subconsciously reached up for her, so she kissed his cheek as well.

She heard feet behind her soon after, and turned to depart out the window. Frodo cringed at the sudden cold that overwhelmed him. Sev slipped outside and back into the hall just in time to see Gandalf unlocking the door to Frodo's room. She breathed a sigh of relief and settled against the door where she had been when he left. She would enter when Gandalf said so; she had seen Frodo, made sure his heart was still beating, so she did not mind being apart from him for a moment.

When Frodo awakened, he wondered if he had dreamed up that warmth. It felt too real, but Sev was nowhere to be found, and so he decided he must have. He actually thought for a moment that he was dead; his head hurt enough. He stared around, confused. He wasn't in Rivendell, although the white sheets, huge bed, and bandages were reminiscent of his stay with the Elves. Dwelling upon that experience, he knew he couldn't be dead: his pains were still hugely prevalent.

Then his gaze fell upon the sole figure in the room. His jaw dropped disbelievingly.

"Gandalf?"

Sev heard his amazed whisper while in the hall, and she choked back a gasp. He was all right, and he sounded so happy, so light, relative to what he had on the top of Mount Doom. She didn't want to ruin it; she turned to walk away and not look back.

Frodo and Gandalf began to laugh, both overjoyed at the unanticipated reunion. Pippin and Merry raced past Sev in the hallway and sprang into Frodo's room. The two began leaping all over him excitedly, laughing and shouting. They embraced him multiple times each. Frodo nearly blacked out with excitement. He didn't think he'd ever see them again; he could hardly believe he could feel them, he could see them, he could hear them.

Gimli greeted Sev rather ecstatically before stepping in to greet Frodo. Legolas nodded to her reverently, and Aragorn embraced her. They were all ready to see Frodo if nothing else. Frodo saw all of them, but Pippin and Merry were the most present by far, not leaving his bed the entire time. He glanced at the door periodically, waiting for Sam . . . and for Sev.

Sam embraced Sev thoroughly. "Ms. Sev! You made it!'

She laughed. "Yes I did, Sam. And you did too. So, what do you think? Are you ready to go home to Rosie?"

Sam just turned bright red and stuttered. Sev clapped his shoulder and shoved him into Frodo's room. "Tell me all about it later."

Sam scurried inside, and he beamed when he saw Frodo. Frodo smiled at Sam, then reached under Pippin to embrace him. Sam squeezed him close, obviously a little taken aback. Frodo jolted when tears pricked his neck.

"I missed you too, Sam," he said quietly.

Sam stood upright and sniffled. "We thought you were dead, Mr. Frodo. I didn't know if I was going to be able to go home without you."

Frodo smiled gently. "I'm coming home, Sam." He might have said more, but Sam stepped aside and over to the other side of the bed. The Fellowship began to trickle out, sans the hobbits and Gandalf, and finally Sev peeked around the side of the door. She didn't want to leave. A love for Frodo kept her there, although she had considered leaving for his sake.

Frodo's smile grew when he saw her. She didn't know if he'd actually be happy to see her, but his assurance lit her up. She stepped carefully over to him and bent down under Pippin and Merry. Frodo reached up and held her close for a long time. His eyes sank closed as he roamed in his mind over all they'd been through thus far, how much he loved her after it all.

When Sev finally moved to back away, Frodo just dragged her down to sit beside him. Her sudden warmth started mending pieces of him. He leaned forward and deeply kissed her cheek; he didn't know how to word it.

Sev chuckled lightly. "Are you feeling better, Master Baggins?"

Frodo smiled when he broke away from her. "Indeed I am. You?"

Sev reached up and fingered his hand, the finger that had been bitten away. The tip of that finished repairing itself at her touch. "I've been better, but I've also been far worse. At this point I just want to get you home."

Home. Frodo glanced up at her. Home . . . the party had been at home, the memories he'd felt running through at Mount Doom. At home they would be safe, and he could marry her. He halted on that thought, and turned abruptly to ask her. She'd told him she wanted to, even if the statement wasn't specifically addressed to him in that moment. Therefore he felt it perfectly reasonable to say something about it.

Sev felt a lurch, like Willation was warning her. _It's not time. It's too soon. He's going to say it; go!_ She could see Frodo glancing down at the ground, opening his mouth to speak, but she couldn't let him, not now. She didn't even know what he was going to say, but she had to halt it.

She cupped his soft face in her hands, and he paused. Perhaps she wanted to say it first. She reached forward carefully and kissed his forehead. Her lips hung just over his nose while she moved and pressed against the tip of it. She kissed each of his eyelids, then pulled away. He eyed her dizzily, a little confused. She then tipped up his jaw and barely touched her lips to his. He had no time to react to that before she leaped away from him and raced down the hall, blushing madly. It had been even less than a peck, but it still meant the world to her.

Her affection ignited Pippin and Merry. They began teasing Frodo relentlessly while Sam went to find Sev, blushing himself. It had been somewhat queer for him to see his master in such circumstances.

Frodo sat, stunned, while Gandalf ushered Pippin and Merry out the door. Gandalf then closed the door behind them and sat down, facing Frodo.

"My dear hobbit," he said, embracing the little one. Frodo smiled into the wizard's shoulder. "I've missed you very much. We didn't know if you would live."

Frodo shook his head. "I wouldn't have, Gandalf. But Sev and I made it through."

Gandalf nodded.

"Well, won't you tell me of how you survived?" Frodo asked, trying to keep his thoughts away from Sev.

Gandalf nodded, and proceeded to recount basically what Frodo had dreamed. He fell down the great caverns with Balrog and fought him until he was vanquished. But then Gandalf "perished" as well, restored to life as a white wizard of even greater power than he had possessed beforehand. He then moved down to the forests on the borders of Isengard and proceeded to assist in the War of the Ring.

Then he paused and smiled. "I'm certain the rest of the story will be told to you as we dine tonight. Aragorn is to be crowned King of Gondor tomorrow."

Frodo nodded.

"Now get some rest. I'm sure I shall hear of your adventures soon enough." Gandalf stroked the hobbit's forehead and turned away.

Frodo tossed slightly, and Gandalf looked back at him.

"I know something is troubling you. By all means, tell me what is on your mind."

With a sigh Frodo sat back up. Gandalf turned, holding his staff, and waited. Frodo swallowed and launched into his thoughts.

"Gandalf, I love her."

Gandalf's eyebrow raised only slightly, but he nodded understandingly.

"She told me she wants to marry me, and I wish to." Frodo paused, and his face grew bright red. "When we go home."

Gandalf laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Then I see no reason why not to, Frodo Baggins. Make her yours."

With that the wizard turned and was gone, leaving Frodo to his thoughts. Frodo wanted to ask Gandalf why she had run away, but didn't think he would know. Perhaps he would, but Frodo didn't think it likely. He burrowed under his white sheets and tried to sleep.

Sev remained sitting under a huge stone balcony. The other hobbits called out for her, but she couldn't find the strength to respond. It felt like an illusion, a dream perhaps. Her fingers shook as she touched her lips carefully. No, it had been no illusion. She clenched her fist and thinned her mouth in a line. What could Frodo have said that Willation didn't want?

"Didn't I ask you if I could have him?" she mumbled.

That night, at dinner, Sev didn't appear. Frodo grew slightly worried, but had no time to as Pippin and Merry began relating their story. Sev listened from the balcony above, where she had clambered inside after guards were set up outside. She stared down at Frodo and the empty seat at his side, wondering if she really wanted it. The great hall, carved of white, had black tile on the floor and broad tables covered in silver dishes. The Fellowship ate at the head of the center table of three, feasting on pork and turkey.

The hobbits told how they'd been taken by the orcs to the forests of Rohan, and Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn had followed them in. Pippin and Merry had crawled out during a brawl, but Sam was taken by the soldiers of Rohan back to the palace. He remained as a semi-prisoner there, under the command of the king (who, in turn, was commanded by Saruman). While Pippin and Merry destroyed Isengard with Treebeard, Sam traveled to Helm's Deep and experienced the war there. Apparently, according to Aragorn, he was a valuable fighter, particularly with a frying pan in hand. Sam blushed at this. Sev whimpered when she noticed he had a permanent scar on his neck, and a few partially mended gashes in his arms.

During the War, Pippin was taken from his fellows to Gondor. Merry and Sam fought in battle, and Sam tended to Merry until Pippin found them. Eowyn restored all three back to health, with the help of Faramir. The rest of the Fellowship had gone to the Black Gate to keep Sauron's armies at bay while Frodo entered Mount Doom with Sev.

After they finished, Sev applauded and slipped down from her balcony. She shot right over to Sam while Frodo trailed after her with his gaze.

"Sam," she said as she laid a hand over his scars. He jolted and stared up at her. "You're ready," she whispered, patting his shoulder.

Sam turned pink. "Thank you, Ms. Sev." Then he gestured to the other side of the table. "Why don't you come and eat? Then you can tell us your story."

Pippin and Merry began crowing wildly. Sev's eyes rolled jocosely, and she nodded as she took her seat beside Frodo.

"You know this one better than I do," he muttered when she sat down.

Sev lifted an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Frodo laughed. "Sev, I mean it. You were actually awake most of the time. I was unconscious for a good deal of it."

After that comment, Sev had Pippin and Merry's full attention. Soon the whole Fellowship gathered around as Frodo and Sev traded off telling the story. Sev distinctly kept her gaze away from everyone, reliving the adventure without the immediate terror and pain of perhaps losing Frodo. Frodo flicked his gaze away from her periodically, and she sheepishly eyed him, not certain of what he was doing looking at her.

There were questions and comments exchanged throughout both stories, but a few of the notable ones came at the more affectionate and peculiar points along the way.

"After I learned that Boromir died . . ." Sev paused. She tried to look solemn and tragic, but the memory of Frodo's lips against hers, even if it couldn't be considered a "proper" kiss, flashed back to her, distracting her immensely. "I suppose I just needed a bit of comfort." She tried to move on, but Merry easily noticed her falter.

"What's with the blush?" he asked. "You're hiding something, I know it."

Frodo tried to cover it up, but without much luck. He turned red as well, and his voice trickled from an explanation into a mutter.

Pippin and Merry burst out laughing. Sam took to hiding his face.

"So it was the two of you!" Merry laughed outright. "What did you do, Frodo? Kiss her until you both turned that pink?" The wording was perhaps rather different, but Sev translated it to that in her mind.

"Especially after what she did to you this morning!" They were absolutely relentless.

Sev turned deep purple, and Frodo couldn't even struggle against them. He was completely taken aback, sitting with nothing less than a strong blush on his face. He sank back into his chair.

Pippin slowed. "You really did, didn't you?"

Sev sat upright. "Not really, no," she said hurriedly, glad they'd left her an outlet to explain.

"I just comforted her for a while. That's all," Frodo muttered.

Eventually Pippin and Merry slowed, allowing the story to carry on. Sev didn't have much trouble until she got to the tower at Cirith Ungol. She skipped kissing him at Shelob's cave; she got through that simply saying she was sorrowful, and they understood why she went into no details with that. Well, they thought they understood.

Then getting up to the tower she didn't fumble on her words, but they both started blushing again. Pippin and Merry attributed it to something else, apparently, for they said nothing but did snicker a little.

Sev frowned. "What is it?"

Merry shook his head. "Not a joke for the presence of a lady. We'll tease Frodo later."

Sev nearly stood up but knew a reaction would goad them on. "Well, thank you for refraining," she said, rather sincere. But they continued to snicker as she spoke. She honestly didn't want to know what they were thinking, and neither did Frodo. Blushing was all fine and good, but if Merry or Pippin said something crude Frodo intended to smack it out of them straight away. But the fact that they said nothing for Sev's sake showed extreme restraint.

Then Sev got to Mount Doom. All fell silent as Frodo took it from there, describing the mountainside. Sev fell under trance to the sound of him passionately telling of the pain and trial going up.

"I knew we would never make it. I couldn't move, and I didn't expect her to do anything. She held me for a while, tried to remind me of the Shire." He swallowed. "I could honestly remember nothing." He stared at the table before him, eyeing the food and bright colors. "But then she started to carry me up the mountain."

Pippin held up a hand. "Now, Frodo, we said your story, not one you made up."

"She carried me, Pippin," Frodo said, glancing at her.

Merry raised a skeptical brow and turned to Sev. "And how, exactly, did you do that?"

Sev paused, trying to remember. "I don't entirely recall . . . but I tried, and nearly fell over."

"Should have cut back on the lembas, Frodo," Merry coughed into his shoulder. Sev glared at him while Frodo contained a chuckle, but then continued on.

"Then I felt these patches of energy on my back." She shook her head, amazed by what she remembered feeling. "I have no idea where they came from, but they felt . . ." Like draining, only infinitely more powerful. "I felt like I'd been attached to some power source, like his very life gave me the strength to move forward."

The tale wrapped up soon after that, and they all scattered off to bed. Leastwise, most of them did. Frodo remained with Sev while she ate (even cold, the meats and fruit on the table enticed her easily). She glanced up at him periodically, feeling apprehensive. She turned to hunching over her food.

"Well?" she asked. "You have to get up early tomorrow, and you finally have some time to rest. Will you take it?"

Frodo shrugged one shoulder. "I thought I might talk to you."

Sev froze. Whatever he had been about to say earlier that morning, she assumed, but Willation gave no warning. Besides, now they were without the other hobbits. She could kiss him if she wished . . . if she had the courage. She thought they should be perfectly comfortable with each other after being friends for so long, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him or show him.

She'd have to warm up to doing that when he was conscious and watching her.

She bit her lip, imagining what it would be like to truly kiss him. Her eyes rolled back, and she quickly stuffed an apple in her mouth.

"Sev?"

She shook her head wildly. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Frodo inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Back home. Life back home."

She nodded, not looking at him.

"Sev, I mean it. Things are going to change when we go back, and I want to know what you wish to do."

Sev shrugged, still not looking at him. She almost regretted saying what she did on Mount Doom, but she hadn't expected to live with it following her everywhere.

He persisted, and finally she snapped her gaze up to him. She couldn't say what she had on the mountain, even if that's what he wanted.

"You want to know what I wish to do?" She turned to him, and he tensed. He wondered if he'd upset her, but she didn't glare at him: she glared within. "All right. I want to get you settled. I want you to be safe. I want to stop worrying about whether you are going to live or die every second of the day, and I want to see that happy gleam in your eyes again. I want to watch you dance and sing and eat like the wonderful, comfortable hobbit you were always meant to be, because—blast it—you're my best friend and I don't care about anything in the world more than I care about you!" She turned and stared at her plate again, letting her head rest on the table before her. She let her eyes sink closed, hoping he would try to swallow that information and go to bed.

He did no such thing. He could see the distress in her eyes, but he had only asked a simple question. He didn't know why she had reacted. Frodo almost thought to leave, but then he remembered that women were confusing, and that her journal said she loved him. Women in love were even more confusing, according to the majority of men he'd ever spoken to.

"Sev, what is it?"

Her brow furrowed when she realized he was still sitting there. "What do you mean, what is it?"

He blinked, now thoroughly confused. "You're obviously distressed."

She sighed. "I've just been worried so long, and I'm still worried, I suppose." She blinked and looked at him. He noticed her black blood was thick within her eyes. She was still hiding something, but why he did not know. "I don't know what will happen when we go home." Then she shook her head and waved it aside. "I'm sure it will be fine." Then she dropped her voice and turned away. "I suppose I just needed to be comforted for a little while."

Frodo didn't know what to do about most of that, but he knew what to do about the last little bit. He reached over and pulled her into his arms. To his surprise, she very intensely complied, inhaling sharply as she embraced him with everything she had. His eyes widened, and he cautiously stroked the top of her head.

"I can't think anymore," she muttered into his shirt. "And something tells me I need to think, need to weigh things for the future." She swallowed; if Frodo had taken in her statement from Mount Doom, she would have to arrange moving in to Bag End. More likely—that being under her considerations as a pessimist—he hadn't heard, and she would have to figure out how to have the courage to move on in life without him. He'd court and marry someday if he didn't marry her; it was bound to happen, especially since he had just come of age almost a year before. Perhaps not soon, but someday it would happen.

Frodo paused. Too much thinking. What were the chances marriage only troubled her more? He suddenly lacked the courage to ask.

He squeezed her shoulders. "Maybe you should rest as well."

Sev nodded slowly. She'd been hoping he would say that, or bring up Mount Doom and let all the rest of her troubles melt away.

She led him back up to his room.

"I suppose we'll be staying in Minas Tirith for some time," she said. "We need some rest before we go home."

Frodo shook his head. "They likely will, but I'm ready to go home." He swallowed. He didn't know what home would be like, but he hoped Sev would be there with him. He reached for her hand. But then something came over him. Something about her resisting his request to marry her twice tore down some little shred of confidence within.

She reached for his hand at the same time, and their fingers met. Frodo felt conflict building in his stomach when he realized she still loved him. Perhaps she avoided his question based on coincidence alone; he hoped that was the case. And he had been too hasty before. If he waited until they were at home, at least she would feel less stressed. Life getting back to the Shire couldn't be so difficult.

 **I'm so sorry if I made that last chapter seem like the end . . . XP We're over halfway through, I can say that much. LotR makes the main story, and there are sappy scenes to follow for a while, then a mini-climax, I guess? Thanks for reading! :)**


	43. Ostensible Peace is the Journey Home

The coronation the next day was a memorable one. Gandalf proclaimed Aragorn the King and blessed his reign with peace. Sev anticipated that time, and knew men were most fortunate to have Aragorn as their leader. He, in turn, blessed his people and said he wished to repair the world that had been broken by war. All cheered loudly, save Frodo. Frodo had always had a quieter demeanor, Sev decided, but in truth Frodo felt the effects of war, the effects of permanent pain, and could muster little.

As the King strode through the crowds atop Minas Tirith's white balcony, Arwen Evenstar stepped from the train of Elves that had arrived. Sev felt like melting, watching the way Aragorn studied his love. He looked disbelieving, almost incredulous. He tucked her hair reverently behind her ear. She bowed to him, but Aragorn would not have it. He tipped her chin up to face him. When she finally met his eyes, he threw himself to her and brought her into a deep, tender kiss. Arwen inhaled slowly and wrapped her arms around him. He spun her around while everyone erupted into applause. Pippin turned to Sev and waggled his eyebrows. He nodded exaggeratedly at Frodo.

Sev shook her head. Merry, who stood between her and Frodo, frowned and stepped to the other side of her. He shoved her at Frodo, and although she resisted she collapsed against him. Frodo buckled, surprised, but stood her up quickly. She turned away from him, her face light purple.

"Sorry," she muttered. Then she saw his expression, and felt defiant enough to challenge him at it. "What is it?"

Frodo paused, taken aback. He flicked his gaze up to Aragorn and Arwen . . . but realized he was truly thinking about Mount Doom again. "My novel dilemma," he said finally.

At Sev's epiphanic gasp he tensed, but then she frowned confusedly. "You didn't know them at the time; they couldn't have been your novel dilemma." When he didn't respond, she nudged him. "All right, keep your secrets."

Frodo cocked his head, but didn't get to continue when Aragorn and Arwen came gracefully towards the hobbits. Everyone around them bowed, and so did the halflings. Aragorn's brow creased, and he knelt down.

"No, my friends!" Sev glanced up at him, confused. He put one hand on her shoulder and the other on Frodo's. His voice dropped. "You bow to no one." He then backed away and lowered on one knee, and his Queen with him. The halflings stood upright, and the entire gathering bowed to them.

Pippin and Merry looked proud enough of themselves, and Sev admitted to herself that they had performed acts of amazing bravery worthy of such an honor. Sam nodded politely to the surrounding crowd. Frodo was solemn, almost distraught. He knew what he had done, and yet he did not feel worthy of that honor. He'd given in to the Ring at the last minute, and if it hadn't been for Sev and Smeagol . . .

Sev smiled and caught his hand, entwining her fingers with his. "You did do something pretty amazing," she murmured, bowing to him. Frodo smiled somewhat wistfully; he tried to insist that she not, but she didn't give him time. She brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed his hand tenderly.

The remainder of the coronation passed quickly. Over the next few days, a blur for Frodo and rather long for Sev, they said their farewells to the Fellowship. Gimli went to the Lonely Mountain in search of jewels worthy to impress the Lady Galadriel, and Legolas went back to his kingdom. Gandalf departed to restore Isengard.

On the day they were appointed to leave, nearly a fortnight after the coronation, Arwen presented the halflings with royal robes of Gondor. Pippin already had his from being made a knight; Sam did not keep his from Rohan. Those were torn and ripped at the battle of Helm's Deep.

Lady Arwen took Frodo aside after she dispensed the robes, and she produced a jeweled pendant. Frodo could feel the light seeping from it, and he accepted it wholeheartedly.

"It will not heal you," she said gently in Elvish, "but it will perhaps stall your pain." She then transitioned to the common tongue and gently kissed the top of his head. "I wish you the greatest of happiness, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo bowed to her and turned away.

Sev had only watched the exchange before she realized that she shouldn't have been there. She eyed Frodo carefully as he slipped the necklace about his throat; Arwen spotted Sev and took her aside as well.

"Seville," Arwen began. "Blood of Malice." She paused. "I fear that to give you a gift of light would be to harm you."

Sev nodded, ashamedly turning away from the Lady.

"But I'm sure these—from my Lord Aragorn—will suffice."

Sev glanced up then. She gasped when Arwen produced Frodo's shirt of mithril, his old clothes including the cloak of Lorien, and the Light of Earendil. Sev accepted them, speechless.

"How?" she sputtered. "Aren't these Frodo's?"

Arwen smiled gently. "He would not have them. When he learned they were to be entrusted to a family member upon his death, he asked Aragorn to keep them from him. It has befallen me to present you with them."

Sev bit her lip. Even if she couldn't have him, she could have a part of him. She unclipped her royal cloak and swung Frodo's old one around her shoulders. She fastened it at the leaf and bowed to Arwen. "I thank you greatly. This means more to me than you know."

Arwen smiled and wished her well. Sev tucked the gifts away; they were more precious to her than anything she owned at that time. She slipped on her other cloak, so as not to alert Frodo to her new attire.

They moved on to the stables to select ponies. Mostly Aragorn said the choice did not matter, but Sev spotted a particular horse she wanted. This one was rather tall for a hobbit, and it frightened her every time she looked at it, but when she realized that reflected her as a person she couldn't resist the stallion. His eyes seemed to glow amber, although soon it was revealed to be but a trick of the light. His mane was black, long, and tangled over a gaunt face. He was not a beautiful creature.

But he was Sev, almost.

"Thunderhome."

Frodo glanced up from where he was cinching the saddle on his own horse. "What?"

Sev pulled the horse from the stall, not bothering to bridle it. "Thunderhome. I'm calling him Thunderhome." She slung her pack over his spine—a rather bony spine—and guided him back into the stall. He snorted impatiently while she tried to get on, but she finally managed it.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. He easily mounted his own horse. "You picked a bit of a tall one. Perhaps someone shall have to help you on and off."

Sev snickered. "That was the general idea." She clicked, and Thunderhome walked briskly out into the open Gondor air.

The journey home was a rather pleasant one, initially speaking. The halflings gathered to sing and dance around the fire every night. Frodo often retired early, sometimes to think and sometimes just to be alone. The other three hobbits didn't typically notice, but those nights always coincided with the nights when Sev would eat, then jump up and grab Thunderhome just to ride alone for a little while.

Sev's presence kept the darkness in Frodo's heart at bay. He didn't want it to overwhelm him, but somehow he felt he had no choice. Even Arwen's pendant would not fight his battles for him, although it certainly helped to combat the darkness.

But Sev couldn't always be there. She only left when she was in too much pain to do anything, like Frodo. Thunderhome was such a poor creature, Sev felt more akin to him than she had to an animal in her life, and she quickly took a liking to the attitudinal horse. She would feel his frail bones—which quickly grew fattened from her care and healing power—under her legs while the scar on her hand burned for the Ring, the open wound on her neck pulsed and crumbled, and Shelob's poison in her blood throbbed painfully. She usually fell unconscious on Thunderhome's back. He cared about her, and always brought her back to safety.

They celebrated Frodo's birthday on the road. That night Sev forced her pain away, and he was happy there. They mostly just sat around in a tight circle, but when it came to gifts (a conspiracy on the part of Sam, Pippin, and Merry), Sev felt herself squirming. She hadn't gotten Frodo anything, and didn't know what to do for it. The three hobbits involved pretty much pilfered what they could from Minas Tirith, although with Arwen's permission, which disappointed Merry just a little. Frodo thanked them graciously, and expected nothing from Sev. But Pippin pulled her aside.

"You don't have anything, do you?" he muttered.

Sev shook her head slowly. "Got any ideas?"

Pippin paused, his eyes growing devious. "A kiss." At her lack of response, he shook her shoulders. "Sev, it's a great idea."

"Pippin!" She scrambled back. Then she paused. "I suppose . . ." She sighed. "I'll do what I can."

But as the night wore on, she didn't do anything but inch closer to Frodo. Pippin finally grew impatient.

"Come on, Sev," he said loudly. "Didn't we talk about this?"

Sev sat upright, and the other three hobbits suddenly halted their conversation to stare at her. "On the cheek, at least!" he called out, winking at Frodo. Frodo froze, completely confused. He turned to Sev, but her only response was a powerful blush and a glare at Pippin.

She didn't say anything, but slowly stood. Merry spoke up too, and Sev suspected he and Pippin might have discussed the subject at Minas Tirith, long before bringing it up to anybody else.

"What is it, Pippin? What did you two talk about?"

Sam looked worried as well. He had no idea what they were going to.

"Well, seeing as Sev didn't get Frodo anything for his birthday . . ." Pippin trailed off, staring at her intently. He contained a triumphantly mischievous grin as she threw her sheepish shock away and stood upright.

"Pippin gave me a suggestion."

Frodo stared up at her questioningly. He didn't know whether or not to be afraid of said "suggestion."

"I request, then, that you come with me. It is not here." Sev held out a hand to Frodo, and he accepted it. She shot Pippin a mixed look and led Frodo away. Her face burned when Pippin and Merry started whooping.

"Don't even, you two," she muttered. _I'm sorry, Sam, but we are leaving you here with them like this._

Once they were out of sight, Sev released Frodo's hand, but he did not release hers. She glanced up at him.

"What is it?"

Frodo hesitated. He didn't quite know what to think.

"We're away from them now, whatever it was you wanted to say," he admitted finally.

Sev nodded slowly. Then she stared up at the starry night sky. She wasn't ready yet. The moon rose in the distance, shedding brilliant white light over a nearby glade. Her eyes widened as she spotted a billowing willow tree on the opposite side of the glade, and a pair of black swans gliding along in the center of the water.

Frodo inhaled slightly. "Sev, it's beautiful."

Sev paused. "This wasn't what I meant to give you . . . not what Pippin suggested."

The hobbit turned to her. She bit her lip when she realized the moonlight was full, substantially gleaming in his eyes. She traced his hair, black in the darkness, away from his eyes. She reached up, her lips a breath away from his face.

"Frodo," she whispered. She brushed her lips against his cheek and pulled him into her arms. He settled into her warmth and laid his head on her shoulder. "For your birthday, I want to give you whatever you wish for in this moment right now." She stared up into the stars. "I don't know if I can, but I want to."

That took Frodo a little by surprise, a little bit sentimental of an idea for Pippin.

"I don't know what I want right now, actually," Frodo admitted.

Sev waited, but Frodo said nothing. Finally she rubbed his shoulders and broke away. "All right. I'll show you something while you're thinking." She departed and extended her hand. As Frodo accepted it, he began to think about what he wanted.

She brought him to where she had tied Thunderhome nearby. She untied the horse and led him into the glade, allowing him to eat. She slipped his burden from his back and sat Frodo down on the soft grass.

As she unpacked and tenderly set bundles down on the ground, Frodo realized what he wanted. He wanted healing. He wanted life to go back to the way it had been before, when he had still been figuring out what he thought of Sev, when things were happy and life was simple.

It could never be. He wouldn't ask her for that.

He thought back to when he was trying to offer the Ring to Gandalf. Circumstances had been vastly different, but Frodo almost felt like she was doing the same thing, only with everything she had.

 _Take me, Frodo. You must take everything I am, for you have nothing._

He could feel that in her. He watched it in her, as she flicked her gaze to him with a forlorn glimmer in the back of her eyes.

Frodo snapped out of his thoughts when he realized his pains only throbbed very numbly now. He sidled closer to Sev; the warmth combated them. He never remembered how good it felt to be around her until she came back. Usually the evenings were cold and lonely, despite the fire and company back at camp.

He slipped his hand into hers again, and she halted.

"Sev, I know what I want," he said slowly. When she moved to repack the bags, he grabbed her other hand. "Don't put them away; I still wish to see." She gave him a curious look, not quite convinced that he wasn't just trying to be polite. "I'll tell you after."

She nodded slightly, then slipped one of her hands out of his. He waited patiently while she unpacked the bags apprehensively, but he didn't watch what she was doing. His eyes remained locked on hers as they flicked about. He could do that for the rest of their lives, and she still wouldn't relax under his gaze.

Finally she unwrapped everything.

"I wanted to show you this."

Frodo paused when she lifted the Light of Earendil. He blinked. He realized she must have gotten it from Aragorn, but he didn't know how he felt about her having it.

"And I wanted to know what you did to light it," she said somewhat bashfully.

Frodo slipped his fingers over hers on the glass. Her eyes widened, but she shook it away as he spoke. His voice was a low thrum as he shifted towards her, and it vibrated against her back.

He muttered to himself for a moment, and then it came to him. "Aiya Earendil, elenion ancalima," he said slowly. She cocked her head, and then the light came to life in her hands. She jolted against his chest, and he wrapped an assuring arm around her. It was less meant to be assuring and more a spur of the moment.

"How did you do that?" Sev whispered. She reached up and fingered the vial with her other hand. The light entranced her greatly, for she could touch it and hold it. She hadn't such liberty with Frodo, not in a way she could make so obvious.

Frodo shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Would you teach me how?" she asked eagerly, turning to him. Frodo nodded. He slowly articulated it to her again until she caught it. She finally let the words stream out of her mouth, and Earendil glowed brighter. She laughed excitedly.

Frodo laughed too. He pressed against her shoulder slightly: having slight contact from her close to his Morgul stab caused relief for the pain.

When they settled, Frodo turned to her. "Why do you want it?"

She gawked at him. "Because it's _light_ , Frodo! Light is . . . light is the most beautiful thing." She peered at obsessively. "I guess you wouldn't love it as much, because you're absolutely full of it."

Frodo paused. "Still?"

Sev set down the light. "Yes, still." She let her royal cloak fall to reveal Frodo's Lorien cloak. "That's why I appreciate this as much as I do. And this." She lifted the mithril out from her pack, then exhaled largely and set it down, jangling, in her lap. Frodo followed it with his gaze, dumbfounded. She closed her eyes. "Frodo, these are a part of you. I don't know why you gave them up, but I'm telling you that you left a legacy. These things are treasures to me because they mean something."

Frodo put his arms around her. "They do mean something," he said. "But not anything I wish to remember."

Sev bit her lip and scooped everything back into the bag, setting it aside.

"Then you don't mind if I keep them."

Frodo shook his head against her shoulder, relishing in the warmth there.

She sighed. "Now that I've just opened old wounds . . . what is it that you wanted?"

Frodo turned her towards him. "Sev, they weren't reopened. In fact, I'm glad to know I never have to face them again, knowing they are in your care and that you will likely never show them to another soul."

She snickered. "True that." Admittedly she jocosely felt a tad jealous for his sudden ability to tell her things she thought wise beyond her capacity to come up for herself. She wondered if that would change anything between them, if anything he had learned would make him too good for her. She swallowed the thought back.

"And now I can tell you what I would want you to do."

Sev hunkered down, appearing mockingly solemn. Frodo stifled a laugh, and strained to do so for a short minute. Sev eyed him.

"Go on. What is it?"

Frodo shook it off, rubbing her shoulders.

"I want you to be with me."

Sev's heart fluttered. Was he asking her to marry him? She forced herself not to jump to any conclusions, and forced herself to remain still.

"I don't quite understand." Her anticipation still bubbled against her words, and she tried to quiet herself.

Frodo sighed. "Sev, I know we've basically been family since Bilbo left, but . . ." He didn't want to make her think just yet, and he wanted more to propose to her with a ring. There was a particularly beautiful one at Bag End—one the dwarves had crafted for Bilbo—with a huge, white diamond at its center and smaller ones of various colors off to the sides that Frodo wanted to give her. So he decided to edge into it. "But I feel as though we haven't relied on each other quite like one. I suppose what I'm asking is . . ."

Sev cocked her head.

"I suppose I'm asking—assuming you won't move into Bag End—that you would at least become more a part of what I do," he said. "Compromise with me, help me build my home in a way that it should be done. Be my real family."

Sev almost prompted him further, but knew he would finish when he would. After he just stared at her for a solemn, long minute, she nodded.

"Of course I will," she said gently. Then she paused. "That means going out into society, doesn't it?"

Frodo smiled. "No. Maybe a little bit, but not much. I'm rich enough as it is, with my inheritance from Bilbo. It might mean some work, if I show you how things usually run inside."

Sev paused. "That's an interesting thing to want, but it works great." She glanced up at him. "Is there anything else I could do for you?"

Frodo slipped his hand into hers initially. When she inhaled sharply he realized he'd done it, and he squeezed her hand. "You could sit here and talk to me, like we used to in the Shire." As he fingered her hand, his skin roamed over where he would put the ring . . . and he found one already there. He jolted before remembering that he had given her this one, a metal one he'd carved her name into when he was sick. He thumbed the etching, feeling her identity trickle through his nerves, wondered at how she latched onto any piece of him she could find.

Sev laid back. "It's not like we didn't talk on the adventure or anything."

Frodo shook his head. "No, but it's different when you're carrying the weight of the world and being stabbed every day." Sev might have laughed if he didn't mean it. He laid back as well, a good eight or nine inches away from her. Their hands still clasped in the middle. "Now we can just be us."

It was a little bit of a rocky start, with the weight of the past and the future still upon them, but soon it turned into lively conversation, and soon became dancing. They waltzed about on the long grass, laughing and just enjoying each other's company.

Soon Frodo grew tired. Sev meant to walk him back to camp, but even as they lay down to rest he fell asleep. Sev, horizontal on the ground with her hands behind her head, turned to ask him what he thought of Mount Doom, her curiosity kindled by desire, desire to be a Baggins.

Frodo breathed deeply and gently a small distance away from her. She rolled close to him and stroked his cheek.

"Good night, Frodo," she whispered. Sev leaned over his face and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose, then rolled away to watch the moon as it clambered across the sky.


	44. Happiness at Last for Most

**Anjion: :) I'm glad you like it. I hope the sappy parts when they come up . . .**

 **freetobe16: Oh, it's not over yet. The LotR part is somewhat close, but there's a bit to follow, mostly chronological one-shots.**

Finally, 13 months to the day after they were sent to Bree with the Ring, Sev crested a small rise on the back of Thunderhome. She gasped and stared back down on the trail: she could see the whole Shire from up there.

It almost seemed surreal, to be back home after all that had happened. She galloped down past the hobbits. They took a conventional trail past the outskirts of West Farthing; she went all the way around, going through the forest and past her log. She set Thunderhome free right there, but he wouldn't leave her alone. He nuzzled her shoulder as he followed her all the way to Bag End.

She ended up leashing him up on one of the hills, and soon he got relaxed enough to eat. She spent the rest of the day with him while the other hobbits discreetly entered their homes and basically collapsed with exhaustion.

Somehow they all managed to meet up at the Green Dragon later that night. It was almost a force of habit that had been dusted off along with everything else, but each of them felt heaviness on their hearts that no ale could wash away.

Sev entered the Green Dragon thirty minutes after the rest of them, and Rosie leaped up from behind the counter. She yanked Sev into her arms, embracing her tightly. She lifted her off the ground in a fit of excitement.

Then she finally set Sev down after she'd babbled her share.

"Sev, where have you been?!"

Sev smiled and embraced Rosie back. "Just with Frodo," was all she had to say. Rosie left it at that and dragged her behind the counter to help.

Frodo fingered the huge ring in his pocket. He'd found it right as soon as he came home. He couldn't get their deal out of his mind. He couldn't get all of his horrible scars out of his mind either, but the thought of marrying Sev was more comforting. He inhaled sharply when he realized that such a thing meant more than he realized.

Suddenly he didn't know if he could do it.

He approached the counter trembling terribly. Sev cocked her head, her brow furrowed.

"Frodo, what's wrong?"

Frodo's mouth slipped open, but nothing came out. He brought his jaw back into place, and he couldn't move more than that.

Sev handed him four mugs filled to the brim with ale. He accepted them wordlessly.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, concerned, and rubbed there slightly. "Talk to me afterwards."

He nodded slowly, for he felt he could manage after. He just needed a little ale to make him crazy enough to ask. He nodded to her and turned away. He nearly smacked into somebody and backed away to let them pass by; it seemed an eternity before he finally sat down and passed a mug to each of the hobbits in company with him.

No one said anything, and no one smiled, much less sang or laughed. The Green Dragon had not changed, naught but them. Frodo stared around solemnly at his companions. They brought up their mugs and clanked them together in a toast to what had been, and to what the future might hold for their war-torn minds. Each took a large drink, save Frodo, who took the smallest of mouthfuls. He couldn't take much drinking at once; he would ease it in.

Frodo glanced periodically over his shoulder at Sev, not yet feeling drunk enough to go and talk to her. Even if he did get drunk, she wouldn't take his request seriously until the next morning. He pulled the ring out of his pocket. His eyes squeezed shut; he'd replaced his old burden with a new one, and the scars of the first were still there. He didn't know if he could take this.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, but that didn't catch Frodo's interest until Sam's stare stuck there.

Rosie smiled back at Sam before ducking back to talk to Sev. Sev looked up absentmindedly from the mug she was washing out.

As Sam made his way over to them, Pippin gawked and Merry exhaled excitedly. Frodo just laughed, a little relieved that Sam was finally making a move.

Rosie looked to Sev, trying to hide her anticipation. "What happened?"

Sev snickered, then bent close to Rosie. "Sam is grown now."

Although Rosie did her best to conceal it, Sev could tell she was excited. She smiled politely—and rather openly—at Sam as he approached the counter.

"Good evening, Miss Cotton," he said very sweetly.

Rosie contained a small, delighted giggle. "Very well, Mr. Gamgee. But you are welcome to call me Rosie tonight; I am but a tavern maid."

Sam bowed his head to her. "You are never but a tavern maid, Ms. Rosie. Don't forget that." Sev contained a cackle. Then Sam stood upright. "Ms. Rosie, I understand you and I share an interest in flowers, and we've known of each other for some time." Then he paused. Sev wondered how long Frodo had been coaching him; it wasn't much of a Sam thing to say, but Sev assumed it would work out fine in the end.

She nodded to him, and he continued. "I want to talk to you outside, Rosie." He offered his hand—doing his best not to tremble—and she took it. He led her out the door.

Sev bit her tongue, shaking excitedly. She skittered out of the bar and sat down beside Pippin, where Sam had been. She thought she heard Rosie exclaiming, "Yes, Sam! Oh, yes; right now!" outside. She didn't know what to think.

Frodo shook his head. Potentially people were thinking Sam had proposed, which Sam had told Frodo he intended to do, but Frodo had advised getting to know her better for a while first. They would court, or so Frodo hoped. And if all went well, they would be married in a few months or so.

He stared blankly at Sev before him. She was bright and bouncy . . . kissable. He should have kissed her on his birthday; it would have been the perfect thing to ask for. His eyes flickered away. He stared at the ground, unable to look at her.

Merry grinned at Sev. "So, how's it going?"

Sev smiled at Frodo. He felt sick, but he managed a perfectly good visage.

"It's going brilliantly," she replied.

Frodo stumbled out of the Green Dragon before Sev even got his mug to the counter. When she turned around, he was gone. She dumped it out—only a small gulp had been taken from it—and she raced after him, out all the way up to Bag End.

"Frodo!"

Frodo's stomach lurched. He turned around slowly, shaking his head.

She raced up the path and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He paused.

"What's wrong? You've been off all night." She wrapped his arm around her shoulders and took him inside, nearly kicking down the door. She moved him inside and laid him down on the couch.

"Would you like something to eat, Frodo?" She knelt down, feeling his forehead. He shook his head.

"I guess I'm just not ready to be home," he mumbled. The ring slipped around in his fingers, almost slick with anticipation. He nearly pulled it out; he'd been running the words in his mind all day and had them ready to burst forth.

Sev nodded. "Talk to me in the morning." She kissed his forehead; she couldn't sense a fever. But he certainly felt dizzy enough to be feverish. "Assuming you're up before noon."

She left him to sleep in his bed, and went out to the lawn. She snuggled against the couch, but worried greatly. Frodo's first night at Bag End in over a year, and it didn't seem to have begun well.

But her body thirsted for sustenance, and so she fell asleep quickly and deeply. She had to drain something, for the scar at her neck gave her no mercy and no rest.

Frodo tossed all night long. A nightmare, one he could not recall after it happened, awakened him one or two hours before dawn. He shot upright in bed in a cold sweat. His Morgul stab pricked angrily at him, nauseating and chilly. He sprang away from his bed and leaped out the front door. He needed Sev.

He opened his mouth to call out her name, but the word left in a whisper on his tongue. She lay calmly on the couch, breathing deeply and easily. He didn't feel himself stumbling across the ground to her side, kneeling down somewhat reverently before her. He reached up tenderly, letting his finger trace her face gently as though she were made of cracking glass.

"Sev," he muttered. Her warmth trickled up his arm, and she moaned, tossing slightly, facing him now. His eyes flickered up and down her features. He let his hand travel across her shoulder, down her arm to her hand. She initially flexed her fingers, wrapping them around his hand. She did not awaken; her body was too close to wasting away for that.

That is, until Frodo reached down and softly kissed her lips, and her body grabbed hold of something it didn't care to identify. He might have done it more deeply were she conscious, but it provided him with every bit of strength he needed to fight his wounds. He pecked her nose as well. She smiled under reflex, but did not open her eyes; her warmth fed Arwen's pendant at his neck, and it illuminated with a gentle pulsing.

He didn't understand how he could have been too afraid to have her as his family, as part of his home, for the rest of his life. To have her all, to give her his all. To be one as a creature.

Right away, the moment she awakened in the morning.

Frodo fingered her hair and brushed his lips against hers again before turning back to go inside. He felt much better; he suspected no nightmares were imminent. He slipped back under the heavy blankets and anticipated the morning that would set him all right.

Sev awakened about three minutes after Frodo came and left, only to find a blue bird perching on the couch before her. It had a large parchment stuffed into its beak. She sat up and faced the bird, stunned.

The bird dropped the parchment into her lap, then fluttered away. Sev stared after it, confused, but then opened the parchment. It was rolled neatly, and she had to crack a rather familiar seal at the breach before she could get into it.

 _Seville,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well and safe at home. But I'm afraid that is not to last. I have come to the Misty Mountains, for I am not allowed to interfere with Frodo's life at any close proximity, and I shall explain why. But there are other things I must tell you, things that must be said far away from Frodo Baggins._

 _While I am aware that you love him, and that he perhaps is the one meant to change the course of your future, I am afraid you must leave him for a while. We have much to discuss._

 _Sheratan misses you more than you know. I miss you more than you know._

 _I am sorry if all of this has been so hard on you. Neither of us meant to hurt anyone. Again, you must come immediately. Do not say your goodbyes, for they will not bode well. I promise to explain everything. And I repeat for sake of importance: do not say goodbye, especially not to Frodo. It is not time._

 _All my love,_

 _Willation_

Sev blinked, shocked. She threw down the letter and ran her hands over her face. Willation, here on Middle Earth. She hadn't seen him in so long, and hadn't expected to ever again. She raced up the hill and grabbed Thunderhome's halter. He snorted impatiently, and she apologized when she realized he had been asleep standing up; but they had to go.

She dragged his head around and mounted him swiftly. Even as she turned, however, she had to glance back at Bag End.

Frodo was in pain. She couldn't just leave him. She had to tell him.

She could get the message to him without saying anything.

Sev dug her heels into Thunderhome's sides, and the stallion whinnied loudly before bolting down Bagshot Row. Sev reached Sam's home fairly quickly, and she knocked on his door for a desperate minute, pacing on the front step. Sam wearily opened the door, his eyelids dragging. His brow furrowed when he saw her.

"Sev? Are you all right?" Then his eyes widened. "Is it Rosie? Is it Mr. Frodo?"

Sev grabbed his shoulders. "Sam, tell Frodo I'm all right, and tell him I'll be back soon. Can you do that for me?"

Sam paused. "Sure, Ms. Sev, but where are you going? He'll want to know."

Sev raced back down the walk as he spoke. "I'm going to the East! I can't give an exact location; he might try to follow!" She mounted Thunderhome and yelled back as she galloped away. "Keep him here, and keep him safe!"

Sam waved to her, still rather confused. Then he called out. "When will you be home?!" But she did not respond.

Poor Sam breathed hesitantly, backing into his burrow. "Mr. Frodo's not going to like this at all."


	45. Misty Mountains Lonely and Cold

Sam waited until the sun came up before he walked the short, painful walk to Bag End. When he got there, Frodo shot out of bed, spotting movement outside. Frodo raced down the walk and right up to Sam, surprised not to see Sev anywhere.

Frodo greeted Sam fleetingly. The ring jounced in his palm as he turned this way and that.

"Sev?" He glanced into the forest. "Sev!"

Sam grabbed his shoulder.

"What is it, Sam?" Frodo asked, almost impatient but not quite.

Sam bit his lip, eyeing the ring in Frodo's hand. His eyes squeezed closed. "Mr. Frodo, Sev left early this morning, before dawn."

Frodo's jaw fell.

"Where? Where did she go?" he asked hurriedly. "Sam, I've got to find her."

Sam nodded at the ring in his hand. "I can see that, Mr. Frodo. She said she was going to the East. She took that horse of hers with her."

Frodo released Sam abruptly and ran his fingers through his hair, pacing madly.

"When will she be back? Did she say?"

Sam slowly shook his head, and Frodo clenched his eyes shut. "I tried to ask her," Sam interjected, "but she was in kind of a hurry."

Frodo sighed and sat down. "It's all right, Sam. You did what you could, I'm sure." Then he turned to his friend. "If it's acceptable by you, I think I'll retire for a while. I won't answer my door until tomorrow."

"Just let me know if you need anything, sir," Sam responded patiently.

Frodo didn't say anything.

Sam nodded finally. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo," he said as he turned away. "It can't be easy, having her ripped away from you like that." He slowly walked back home, afraid of how he would manage to keep his promises to both Sev and Frodo.

Frodo sat there for a long moment before despairingly standing. Sev was the one thing keeping him from going absolutely nuts, and now she'd left him. He walked back up to the front door, but he passed the couch on the way and saw a discarded piece of paper, which the bird had ripped most of and taken away. He picked up the remaining pieces, hoping Sev had left him an explanation.

It was from a Willation; he guessed perhaps the same one mentioned in the front of her journal. He blinked, surprised. He thought she said she had no family. Apparently she had gone to the Misty Mountains.

Frodo raced inside to go after her, but the moment he stepped into Bag End his Morgul stab crunched his shoulder with icy cold. He gasped and doubled over, clutching the wound. He squirmed and writhed on the wooden floor, shifting his grip to Arwen's pendant. He breathed only a little easier with his hand wrapped around the stone.

He needed Sev's warmth.

She would be back soon.

He could hope if he wished to.

Fortunately for Sev, Thunderhome knew the way to the Misty Mountains, having been raised there. Sev didn't know how he knew, but she fell asleep on his back after three days of hard riding and awakened when he cut himself on the sharp remains of a branch. He stumbled and whickered irritably, then nudged her with his nose before she could fall off.

Sev blinked awake and instinctively grabbed the horse's knee, where the branch cut trickled just slightly. He nuzzled her nose as she fully awakened, and the energy of his cut channeled into her arm. She gasped for air and righted herself on his back. He had not yet grown fully healthy even as she slowly drained his starvation away, but he seemed to be progressing well enough.

She stared up at the sky. It was dim with thick clouds, probably about midday. She glanced to her right and her eyes widened. A huge range of menacing, dark mountains stood there. She had no doubt those were they; they seemed misty enough.

She patted Thunderhome's neck and slipped off of him. "You could use a break," she said. She didn't know how much time had passed since she'd left the Shire, but she hoped it had been only four days or so.

Sev walked and led Thunderhome the rest of the way to the base of the mountains. It only took her a few hours, for which she was very grateful. She let the horse remain outside to graze while she entered a dark cave. No doubt Willation would find her if she just stayed where she was.

She sat against a large stone, crossed her legs, and waited patiently. Most of that time she thought about Frodo and hoped Sam was protecting him. She didn't know what the hobbit would do in her absence—hopefully he didn't get into any trouble.

"He should be fine."

Sev jumped up, only to see Willation standing erect in the shadows. She ran to him and embraced him abruptly. He laughed lightly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She'd forgotten how tall he was, and looked up a little disappointedly.

"You haven't exactly grown," Willation admitted.

Sev shrugged. "Haven't had to. How have you two been?"

They caught up on all of the adventures each had gone through. Willation approved of Frodo wholeheartedly, he told her after they were finished. He laughed as she told him stories of Merry and Pippin, but then he settled into remarkable solemnity.

"Seville—Sev," he began. She jolted at the sudden darkness in his tone. "I must give you some warnings before you return home. It has been good to speak to you, but there are things you must know."

Frodo waited for a few days, tucked neatly inside Bag End with his angry wounds. He struggled to fight them, but they were strong without sufficient resistance. Those few days turned into weeks. Those weeks became months, the first seven months of his life since he'd really befriended Sev that he was truly lonely. Sam came over periodically at first, but soon he proposed to Rosie Cotton and didn't have time for Frodo.

Gandalf came to visit once, on a day that Frodo was relatively healthy. Frodo managed to make the wizard some tea before he collapsed on the couch. He'd kept himself occupied by furiously scribbling in Bilbo's Red Book. His adventures and feelings flowed from his fingers like water that tried in vain to cleanse the stray blood within.

The wizard sat down to drink his tea, but Frodo backed into a corner before he could join the older man. Gandalf frowned, setting his cup aside. Frodo waved him off exhaustedly.

"I am well enough off, Gandalf," he said, nigh breathless.

Gandalf stood abruptly. "Frodo, what is wrong?"

Frodo's eyes slipped almost closed, and he slouched hard in his chair. He couldn't keep sitting up anymore, not at this point. He fingered aside his shirt, baring the Morgul wound to the light. Gandalf winced; dark liquid flowed frantically through the crater of skin, and black tendrils of poison spread throughout the hobbit's shoulder. The pendant looked blackened, as though tainted. It pulsed, trying to fight the dark liquid.

Gandalf furrowed his brow. He could do nothing for Frodo really, but then he paused. He perhaps could. He remembered he would be leaving for the Grey Havens with Elrond, but it would be a few years. He only hoped Frodo could hold out that long.

The wizard leaned forward and rubbed Frodo's head. "My dear boy."

"It's only been like this since Sev left," Frodo managed, tossing a little bit. "Have you seen her, Gandalf?"

Gandalf shook his head. He didn't understand why she would leave.

"She went to the Misty Mountains," he breathed slowly, as though only half conscious. His head turned in the chair. He could feel so little beyond the chilling pain. "I need to go after her."

Gandalf grabbed the hobbit's sleeve, and Frodo turned to him. He blinked dizzily.

"Or you could find healing in the Undying Lands," Gandalf said quickly. "Tol Eressea, with the Elves."

Frodo paused, studying Gandalf.

"You would find true healing," the wizard continued. "The light of the Elves would drive away your pain."

Frodo nodded quickly. "Will we wait until Sev returns? She will want to come with us."

Gandalf shook his head. "We will leave with the last ship. That will be in a few years, Frodo, but Bilbo and Elrond will accompany us. Seville will not be permitted to come. She is too dark for Tol Eressea."

Frodo's brow furrowed. "I won't go without her."

Gandalf sighed heavily; he'd half been expecting that.

"Frodo, you may have to," he said. "If she cannot heal you, you must pursue what will allow you to live."

"I must wait for her. My response to your offer is undecided until she returns," Frodo said. He gripped the ring hard in his pocket.

Gandalf nodded, slowly turning away. "Rest now, dear Frodo," he murmured, and he carefully walked out the front door. He almost felt Frodo was making a very unwise decision, but rationalized that Frodo had over two years to decide whether or not to go.

Frodo tossed and writhed in his chair, finally slumping to the floor. Shelob's sting pulsed, tantalizingly close to numbing pain, but just far enough away that it still hurt him. Tears trickled out of his eyes as he tried to remember the warmth and affection that would drive it all away. He'd forgotten what her lips were like, how it felt to be held by her, how reassuring her fingers were entwined with his own.

"Sev, where are you?"

Willation let Sev have a moment or two to herself. She sat on the floor, a little disbelieving. Willation had explained to her about mortal family . . . and how she could never have one.

He confided in her that he knew she wished to marry Frodo. Her eyes had lit up for a moment, but then everything within her drooped while Willation continued: she was too dark. Her blood would not reproduce, and she didn't have functional DNA. If she married Frodo, the Baggins line would come to a halt. He told Sev her body had protected her from being attracted to him for a few years, but soon she had drained so much hobbit that she began to twist, to be slightly mortal but still too dark to be completely hobbit . . . enough to be attracted to Frodo.

He then told her that she was not feeding herself enough, that she had showed remarkable restraint. She did not feel such, but appreciated the compliment. But she could tell he was not particularly happy to tell her that: he also revealed that she only had a little under three years to live, that her blood would run out then if she kept up her sustenance at the rate she had been for the past thirteen years.

Willation watched her as she huddled in a small ball. Then he checked his timeline. His presence in Middle Earth had altered the time stream in the Misty Mountains—Sev probably only felt the effects of a few days, but it had been almost eight months now. They still had a few weeks left, he calculated, before he could let her go home. Frodo had to experience life without her long enough to make his choice, whether to go to the Grey Havens or remain with her.

"Why couldn't I say goodbye to him?" Sev whispered. She turned and looked at Willation. "Why?"

"He would have followed you, or would have pulled a string he didn't even understand to keep you in the Shire." Willation didn't even hesitate, which surprised her. He had considered specifying Frodo would have asked her to marry him before she left, but decided not to bring that up. "I needed to talk to you alone, and he needed to be alone as well." He glanced up, meeting her blood-thick eyes. "He will not die in your absence, I promise. He is still in Bag End."

Sev crept forward. "May I see him?"

Willation stared off into the distance. He stirred his fingers in a pot of water he'd prepared before coming. A storm stirred over the Shire where he'd placed it. "Not yet. Do not worry; you will see him soon."

Frodo received a note from Sam, warning him that Lobelia was planning on coming to write and legalize his will. Apparently rumors had been spreading about the Shire that Frodo would not be capable of tending to Bag End anymore. Frodo paced worriedly, stumbling from time to time on account of his pain. He didn't know if he had the strength to ward her off.

He stared outside; a storm rumbled in the distance. It approached over the course of the day, and soon rivers began flooding. Frodo watched as lightning danced in the sky, and thunder cracked.

It was bad enough that Lobelia did not come that day. Frodo wondered at that.

He spent the day writing in his book, but he found himself addressing Sev most often. He was writing it for her to read, but he ended up shoving the book aside and pulling out a pile of empty parchment. He began scribbling his thoughts, what he wanted to tell her. He took up both sides of 13 slips of parchment. They weren't large, but he had a lot to say as it was.

Finally, when he reached the end, he moved to sign it. He hesitated, unsure how to end such a letter.

He checked his calligraphy. _All my love, Frodo Baggins_ was what he ended up writing. He rolled up the letter and set it aside. He doubted she would ever read it—if she returned before Gandalf said it was time to leave for the Grey Havens, perhaps. But Frodo once thought to burn it.

Willation sent his blue bird through the storm to fetch Frodo's letter. It took a couple of weeks for the bird to reach Bag End and squeeze inside, but Willation sent it early enough that the morning after Frodo wrote it, the letter had disappeared. Frodo searched everywhere for it, but he could not find it.

Bitter sorrow overtook him following the letter's disappearance. No one had come for him in such a long time. He was completely alone, and constantly in pain. No one understood him; he had no purpose in life. His mind raced around in circles exactly along those patterns as he wrote his book and paced. The storm lasted for weeks, preciously miserable weeks that kept visitors away, pleasant and unpleasant. He grew numb. The pain and confusion was far too much to handle.

Frodo stared out the window at the driving rain. Sev loved rain.

"Please come home."


	46. I'm Coming, Frodo

**Anjion: I guess that depends on where you want to end it. I don't think it'll disappoint you. :)**

Sev stared out at the approaching storm clouds with anticipation.

"I haven't danced in the rain in years," she said excitedly. Then her gaze faltered as she turned back to Willation. "I miss Frodo."

Willation patted her shoulder. "I know you do."

"I've been gone at least a week," she admitted. "It's time to get back to him."

The bird entered about then. Sev glanced up as it dropped Frodo's heavy letter into her lap, and she picked it up carefully. Willation cringed, for she would not be happy, but he could only hope it would all work out soon.

Sev unwrapped the heavy string and set it aside.

"Is it from Sher?"

Willation shook his head.

Sev shrugged, then dug into it one page at a time. She blinked at the scrawl, very whiplash and hurriedly done. She wondered if it was urgent. She turned away to read it and began pacing the tunnel.

"Sev," she read, "I hope you are enjoying your time wherever you are. I hope you tell me all about what has happened and what you have been doing. But it is getting rather lonely here at home."

From there the letter expressed more and more pain. Sev about broke down as she read in simple words what Frodo said to her (although he mentioned his name nowhere), how the world was cold and piercing and terrifying all around him. Her eyes squeezed shut when she recognized the voice of the writing, the passion he only employed when at a table with his quill or relating a story.

"Why does he suffer my fate?" She stared up at Willation. "He did nothing. He saved the world, and look what it did to him."

Willation nodded at the letter. "Keep reading."

She continued. He grew from that into how everyone around him cared about something else more, about how he mattered to no one. She berated Sam in her mind. "I told you to watch him," she muttered. Then she mused that Sam had Rosie; he probably didn't think about much else. She flipped pages madly, skimming the heartfelt letter. But then she came to a part that stopped her.

 _Come back and be my family. I don't know why you left, but you've been gone long enough. Some changes have been made, and I hope you aren't too surprised: Sam has proposed to Rosie Cotton (at last), and they are to be married on April 8_ _th_ _. I suppose that gives you at least three weeks to ride back._

Sev frowned. "April 8th? That was a couple of months ago."

Willation paused. "Sev."

Sev held up a hand. "Let me finish this letter first."

 _You have everything I do for yourself, Sev. My possessions are yours, my life is yours. I don't know why you would abandon them, but I suppose you have your reasons somehow. I wish you could read this letter: I never said what I wanted, and a hypothetical passage is the best place to do this._

 _The last few months have been the loneliest of my life. I hope you know that you are wanted somewhere. When we met you said you didn't have a home or family. But you do now, and that means you must come back to it; your life means something huge to me._

 _We miss you, every one of us._

 _All my love,_

 _Frodo Baggins_

Sev slumped.

"Months? Willation, he's not drunk, is he?"

Willation knelt down before her. "If I told you this before, you never would have come," he started.

Sev buried her face in her hands; she almost didn't want to know. "Told me what? Just get it out now, I promise I won't explode all over you no matter what you have to say." Then she admitted to herself that she couldn't guarantee her promise.

"My presence alters time here," he said. "Frodo originally faced a different fate, even a different mannerism of life, and in order to let you come here I had to change that, reorder time itself. You may feel as though you've been here for a few days, but in truth Frodo has gone through eight and a half months without you."

Sev's jaw dropped, and her eyes hardened. "Eight and a half months!" She stood abruptly. "I have to go!" She raced for the cave entrance. The storm had approached, rumbling like the very emotions within her. Rain poured hard outside.

Willation reached out and grabbed her shoulder. "Sev, it's a harsh storm. It has been building for a few weeks. I meant to let you go today, but I don't know that you wish to leave now."

Sev shoved Frodo's letter into her vest, and she stared hard at Willation. "I do. I must reach him now."

"Take care of yourself," he said gently. "And take care of Frodo. He will be worth it to you."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Even if I only have him for two and a half years more?"

Willation nodded. "Every moment will become precious to you the fewer you have," he offered, somewhat pitiful. She leaped out of the cave almost before he finished his sentence. She had already given him regards to Sheratan, and did not feel guilty about running away without sentiment: Frodo was in trouble.

Thunderhome could sense her agitation. He snorted and pawed the ground anxiously. He danced about as she mounted, and when she dug her heels into his side, he reared up into the storm with a mighty screech. Thunder and lightning cracked above him as they turned to the West, and he bolted into the woods.

"I'm coming, Frodo," she whispered.

 **Sorry it's so short, I really wanted to end a chapter here. But the next one should resolve things rather well. :)  
As always, reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated! Thanks so much!**


	47. With Wedding Comes Heartbreak

**Anjion: Probably Frodo. XD Although hopefully this will fix that . . . and then make him upset again. :/**

The road was not easy in any sense of the word. Branches scratched at every inch of both horse and rider, and she did not slow until Thunderhome couldn't move anymore. Then she would run alone, and the horse had to catch up when he was no longer exhausted. She trekked constantly; she couldn't move fast enough.

Only strips of clouds remained above the Brandywine when Thunderhome leaped onto the ferry. Sev raced away with him, mounting as she moved, which almost caused her to fall under his feet. He sped into a canter towards West Farthing.

Frodo sat staring at the empty, gray sky. No rain that day, but plenty of shadow. He ducked away to nibble at a bit of cheese. Two weeks until Sam's wedding—he thought he could survive until then, but he didn't know how much longer he wanted to.

Sev left Thunderhome lathered at the foot of the gate. She brushed herself off; she was anxious to see Frodo, although it only felt like a couple of weeks to her. It had been the better part of a year for him, she realized. Guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her as she raced up the stairs.

She slammed into the door, then remembered courtesy and knocked rapidly. Frodo stood; hesitancy marked his every move as he walked to the door. Sev shifted on the doorstep, for she couldn't keep still. She wanted to see him, wanted to barge through. She could have, but she didn't want to disturb him if he wasn't awake.

The words "Yes, Sam?" were almost out of Frodo's mouth when he grabbed the knob and turned it. The door didn't open quickly enough, and Sev barreled through it right into Frodo. He stiffened with a gasp when the warmth overwhelmed him; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him close. Frodo paused as his pain drifted out to her touch. He bit his lip and embraced her hard—tears pricked his eyes.

"Frodo!" She reached back and kissed his forehead. Flutters, reawakened from months of absence, filled him from head to foot, and then she lurched into his embrace again. She buried her face in his neck and shoulder. "I didn't know I was gone so long. Frodo, I'm so sorry."

He swallowed. "Oh, Sev." He lifted her off the ground, still wrapped against her. "Sev, it's so good to see you." He rubbed her shoulders repeatedly, hardly believing he could feel her.

Frodo only set her down when she seemed to squirm back. She left her arms around his neck as she studied him; she wanted to reach up and kiss him. She'd missed him so much . . . but then what Willation had told her flashed into her mind, and she pulled back from what she wanted.

"I really thought I was only gone a couple of weeks," she admitted, biting her lip. Frodo let his fingers trace her back, then brought a hand up to cup her face. He pulled her into his arms once again, content just to have her.

He released her when he felt a little warmed. He didn't know that he would ever feel he had held her sufficiently. "What were you doing?" he asked.

She sighed. "I met a friend at the Misty Mountains. I suppose I didn't realize how long it had been until I got your letter."

Frodo's eyes doubled in size. "You got my letter?"

She nodded, pulling the thick wad of parchment from her vest. "Yes." She handed it to him, but kept a finger on it in case he tried to take it back: she wanted to keep it as a reference for what he needed help with in the future. "Which is why I truly apologize. Come," she said, extending a hand. "I found a rather lovely spot in the forest, kind of like where we used to read. We can talk there if you wish."

Frodo paused. "I haven't been out of the house since you left."

Sev gawked. "No wonder you look terrible. Come here." She looped an arm around his waist and directed him out of Bag End, down to a river some distance away. Frodo reached in his pocket, then realized he'd left the ring out where he could look at it. He wanted to go back and get it, but somehow Sev was obstinate enough to keep him outside for at least an hour.

He intended to propose to her anyway. But somehow they got on the subject of his scars, and he never even thought of it. Not for the rest of the day, at least. He realized as he talked and she listened that he sounded a little bit like she had back in the forests outside of Rivendell.

They didn't finish talking until well after dark. Sev realized that once Frodo began yawning a little. She took his hand and walked him back to Bag End. He awakened enough to walk side by side with her and squeeze her hand occasionally; he felt so much better just to have her there. Arwen's pendant began to glow again, its burden now shared with Sev.

"Now go to sleep," she said carefully, leading him inside. "I'll be just out on the lawn if you need me."

Frodo stared at her, a little pained. "Are you sure?"

"I didn't promise last time," she pointed out.

Regardless, it still worried him, and he insisted on staying outside with her, all night long. She kissed his cheek and stepped up to Bag End, then clicked the door shut behind her on the way back down to him. The sun set gently as she sat him down on the couch and sidled up by him. "I'm not going anywhere. Not for some time," she amended, remembering that she would die someday soon. She bit her lip, wondering how she could possibly tell him.

He fell asleep there, in the comfort of simply holding her hand. She brought his head down to rest on her shoulder. She stroked his hair gently, twisting his curls around her fingers. She buried a kiss in them and cupped his cheek with her free hand.

"I'll not leave you again until the day I fade away for good, Frodo Baggins," she promised. She wanted nothing more than to hold him forever, but she didn't have forever. He would carry on without her whenever she died.

Sev spent her time caring for Frodo in the weeks leading up to Rosie and Sam's wedding. She grew silent after a while, pondering how many days she had left. She counted down a good deal of the time, until Frodo talked to her long enough to distract her from her inevitable fate.

She had anticipated dying for so long that now it confused her to dread it. She couldn't leave him, not like this. Frodo was in horrible condition. She wanted to drain his wounds, but didn't want to get addicted. She refused to hurt him more than he already had been.

On the day of Sam's wedding, Frodo approached Sev in the main hall of Bag End. He had the ring in his pocket. But things were so busy, and he was so afraid, that he decided to wait until after.

"Sev, I need to speak to you."

She stared at him so expectantly he felt like turning around and walking away. But he shook himself off of it and found something to say.

"I've added to Bilbo's book, written our adventures down." Then he held up a hand when her interest sparked very evidently in her eyes. "It's not finished yet, but you may start reading it if you wish."

Sev's gaze shot about excitedly. "Where is it?"

Frodo nodded to his desk. She leaped over to the desk and flipped the Red Book open. She'd always wanted to read a story Frodo had written, and now she had the chance. She skimmed the first bit, usually taking in a story with the general premise and then going back for details when she knew she would have time to indulge.

Despite her hurry, Frodo had to drag her away for the wedding. He reminded her how much she loved Rosie . . . and she hesitantly abandoned the open book.

The ceremony was simple and beautiful. Frodo stared around aimlessly for a moment, wondering what his own would be like when he got to it. He wanted Bilbo to be there, as well as Gandalf, but that would be no issue, he realized. They weren't leaving for some time yet.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Sev tensed beside him. Sam leaned in and kissed Rosie very gently. When the two separated at last, ecstasy lined both of their faces. Sev cheered excitedly; she'd been longing to see that, and watching kisses gave her chills. Her eyes flickered to Frodo, but she tore them away.

Rosie threw her bouquet into the crowd, and Pippin leaned over Sev to catch it. She laughed and turned back to him, but her laugh turned into a mild gasp as he waggled his eyebrows at a nearby girl. Diamond of Long Cleeve, Sev thought, if she remembered correctly. Diamond or Jewel, or something to that effect.

Frodo watched Sam wonderingly. He could only imagine what that kiss would have been like; the warmth would have touched him and spread like soft fire through his whole being.

Before Frodo finished congratulating Sam and before the dancing began, Sev took off for Bag End. She was so excited, she had to write all of this down. She thought she'd lost her journal at Rivendell, but she'd seen it on Frodo's desk next to the Red Book. How it had gotten there she didn't dare ask: she just needed to write about Rosie.

She pulled out a spare quill pen and a bottle of ink and began writing at Frodo's desk. First she scribbled happily about Rosie's wedding, then about how excited she was to be back with Frodo . . . and then she remembered that gnawing realization that she would die soon. She was writing one moment, and the next her entire journal was dotted with tears. The ink blurred all over the page.

Frodo began to walk back up to Bag End: he had to go get the ring off of his desk. He wanted to propose to her by the log. He felt a little lighter than usual that day, with hope for something better to come.

Sev leaped up from her chair, overtaken by so much hurt and lack of ability to accept what would happen to them. She raced to the front door and threw it open. Then she smacked right into Frodo. He stared at her, shocked, as she dodged around him blindly.

Her eyes were blurred. She was fairly sure she'd just run into Frodo, but she couldn't see. Frodo's eyes bulged when he realized she had tears streaming down her face. The blood in her eyes was thick.

"I'm sorry," she babbled, turning away. She ran as fast as she could and scurried under her log, where she finally felt safe.

Frodo furrowed his brow, but he couldn't think of anything. Perhaps she thought she would miss Rosie?

He saw her journal open on his desk when he walked inside. He raced over to it. The pages were open, blotted with wet ink. Faded black lines ran down the page; they blurred and trickled down the slope of paper. He brushed them away with his finger and read starting at the transition from slightly blurry to runnier ink.

 _I'm dying in under three years. I don't want to leave him. Please don't let him be alone. It sounds and looks like it hurts. Please, Willation, don't let me die._

 _But I have to die. Frodo, forgive me. I'll take care of you the rest of my life._

 _I'll miss you. The adventure was everything to me. You are my best friend, and I never would trade anything to say that you made it home safe. Holding you, having you there—I will miss that more than anything. Kissing you . . . I can't express my feelings better than in that. I wanted to marry you._

 _Still wish I could. I'll never stop fighting for the good in you; I admire you more than you know, everything you've done. For the world, for the Shire . . . for me. Goodbye, Frodo. I love you._

Frodo sank into the chair of the desk. Draining away—she had mentioned earlier in her journal something about that, but he hadn't known. Perhaps there were other factors, or he would assume she'd try to keep herself alive.

He ran outside and didn't bother to shut the door.

"Sev!" He trotted down the walk, but he couldn't see her anywhere. "Sev!"

She didn't respond. But she could hear him. She choked on her own breath, curled in a ball, and began swaying back and forth. She just had to make it through a few more years, and then she could be done. It was like visiting an old contract with a demon, one that had tricked her into wishing her life was no more when it truly served some sort of future purpose.

She could only love him to the best of her ability and keep her promise, even if he never knew the promise she'd made.


	48. To the Harbor Beyond the White Towers

**Anjion - XD I can't take my own writing seriously without beating up my characters. It gets worse, I think, later. O.o I'm glad you like it, though! :)**

Frodo didn't see her again until the next morning. He glanced up from writing and saw her on the lawn, prowling. She slipped onto her couch and curled up. It was more comfortable than her hole, but she didn't want to see Frodo until she felt worthy to talk to him. She was abandoning him because she felt afraid of an addiction, of staying alive through all of this pain.

Frodo stepped softly outside. She didn't respond when he sat down on the couch beside her. Her eyes were black, but the tears were gone: a dark, bitter glare replaced them.

"Sev?" He reached forward. As he neared she inhaled sharply, almost recoiling, but when he hesitantly touched her she slacked completely.

She stared up at him, naïve and afraid. She said nothing, just reached forward and laid her head in his lap with a heaved sigh.

Frodo let his fingers flow through her hair. She might have been his, if only she'd live longer. He reached down and kissed her cheek, then brushed his face against hers. She leaned up and pecked his jaw before settling again.

"It'll be all right," he said quietly. He could only say that knowing she was concerned for his well-being; he would go to the Grey Havens and be healed. Sev would—he didn't want to think about what would happen to her.

She shook her head in his lap.

"It will, I promise." He was half trying to convince himself that she wanted to be gone. But she didn't seem like she wanted to go anywhere, and he didn't want to live without her.

Hence leaving home forever.

She seemed to squirm after a minute, so Frodo asked her quietly if she wanted to be alone. She didn't actually, but she assumed he wanted to be for asking. So she simply nodded and walked back to her log. She missed him the moment she left, but didn't turn back. He almost immediately walked back up to Bag End.

His hands trembled as he assembled another letter. He addressed this one to Gandalf, told him he'd be ready when they left for the Grey Havens.

Gandalf responded in a few days.

 _You've made the right decision, Frodo._

Bringing light and health back to Frodo became the point in Sev's life; she followed that purpose with bitter conviction. Her days were numbered. Somehow she couldn't tell him that she would die, not yet; she'd told him in her journal, even if he would never read it. She didn't want him to worry, didn't want him to go insane. So she decided to make it look like an actual death, not a draining.

But somehow she was unsuccessful. Knowing what he did, Frodo couldn't look at her the same way. He looked at her as one might a victim of an illness, which she technically was. Simply the illness of living, the harsher consequence of Sheratan's survival.

Sev didn't know what she was doing wrong. But she somewhat felt like she was helping; her presence seemed to bring light to Frodo . . . however she knew better. He grew wistful, and attempted to detach himself to no avail. He only grew closer to Sev as he tried to distance himself, caring for her and her struggle in a way he had never thought to.

Soon he started locking the front door of Bag End, partially to finish his book and partially because he couldn't look out into the Shire anymore. Sev couldn't get in during the moments he was asleep. Once she saw him, on the bed and unconscious; he moaned and writhed in pain. She threw a rock at the window to break it open in her desperation to help, but it glanced off and cracked against her head. She crumpled to the ground. When she woke up, her blood surrounded her. She gravely swore not to do it again: the more blood she lost the more time to help Frodo she lost.

Frodo paced and muttered as well, going a little nuts. He could feel it coming on, the desire to leave and the simultaneous pain of losing what he cared about most.

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back? That some hurts go too deep, and have taken hold."

Sev sat outside the locked Bag End door at the time, and her eyes widened when she heard him. It was like listening to a poetic version of her own sorrows for years. She hurriedly stood and knocked, desperation filling her.

Frodo frowned, then tried to open the door. It was locked; he hurriedly twisted the bolt, a little confused, and turned the knob. He wasn't expecting anyone.

Sev barreled past him to the floor. She lay gasping there for a moment while he realized what had just happened.

He glanced at the door. "I'm sorry, Sev. I didn't realize it was locked."

Sev shook her head as she stood. "You've had it on and off for a few months now." She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he froze at the sudden warmth that trickled into his skin. "What's wrong?"

Frodo paused. He didn't entirely want to answer that. He hadn't told her that he knew she would die in a few weeks. He couldn't think about it too much; it hurt to realize they would be separated forever in just a matter of time.

He grasped at his Morgul stab suddenly, and Sev grabbed him as he collapsed. She lowered him gently to the ground, stroking his hair and holding him tightly. She rubbed her cheek against his hair.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," she whispered, biting back the bitter truth within her: she couldn't even heal him.

He shook his head against her neck, slacking in her arms. "There's nothing more you can do."

She gripped him harder, pulling him up a little bit. Her heartbeat echoed in his ears, and he tried to rest to the rhythm of it. But knowing it would be gone all too soon, he didn't dare fall all the way.

"I could do something. I know I could do something . . ." she insisted.

A few weeks later, Frodo wished he were better distanced. It was time to leave for the Grey Havens, but he felt sick when he thought about it.

Sev had no idea he wanted to leave: she planned to have the best last month with Frodo possible. Life had been so dark since they got home, she wanted to end it differently if she could. But she realized she couldn't heal the damage that had been done without putting everything she cared about at risk.

Once Frodo told her what needed to be done in preparation to "take Bilbo to the harbor," Sev wouldn't stop working. It surprised him, how resilient she could be when she wished. The ring he'd gotten for her slipped around in his pocket. He felt so guilty: he'd never told her anything about it.

Sev also began planning for that month during the day. That left Frodo time to write. He was almost finished with the book, and completed it when Gandalf finally appeared at the front door of Bag End.

Frodo put the quill down as quickly as he could and pushed on his Morgul stab with a harsh wince. It snapped with a chill today: October 6th. It had been four years since he'd been stabbed, and it had never gone away.

Sam came in then. "Mr. Frodo?" Frodo sighed and lowered his hand as Sam came up behind him. "What is it?"

Frodo sighed and glanced up at his friend. "It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam." He turned away. "It's never really healed."

Unsure what to say, Sam looked back at the Red Book. It was open to the title page, where Frodo had finished by signing his name in careful calligraphy. "There and Back Again, by Bilbo Baggins, and The Lord of the Rings, by Frodo Baggins." Sam smiled. "You've finished it!"

Frodo closed the book. Sev would know more about the Shire than he would by the time she faded away. Perhaps she would find some form of hope; he couldn't ask for more.

"Not quite." Frodo stared down at the floor as he flipped the book closed. He didn't want to think about it; but he wanted to be one with Sev, and this was the only way to do it. "There's still room for a little more."

Sam left to find Gandalf and Bilbo. Frodo followed after, once he donned his robes from Aragorn. He slipped into the wagon Gandalf had provided for them to go to the Havens. He would spend most of his last moments in Middle Earth with Bilbo. He glanced back into the Shire, the home he would never see again.

Sev watched him go in and cocked her head. He caught her movement, then beckoned for her to come down. He hadn't intended to tell anyone he was leaving . . . but he thought Sev ought to know. Besides, he wanted to say goodbye alone.

Sev slipped down the side of the hill, excited to tell him what she had planned for the month. She only hoped he would forgive her for leaving him. She slinked into the wagon after him, and he patted the cushion by his side. She sat down and closed the door behind her.

"What is it?" she asked, partially energetic.

Frodo bit his lip. She looked happy enough despite what would happen to her soon. He knew it would hurt him to do this, but he sidled close to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. Her warmth overwhelmed him; his fingers traveled over her shoulder. She reached up somewhat absently and gently touched Gollum's bite on his hand.

He would miss her touch.

He let his fingers mingle with hers while he prepared to speak.

"Frodo, what's the matter?" Sev didn't like where this was going, but did not persist in guessing. He would speak when ready.

She sounded so unknowing. Frodo turned away from her for a moment before coming back. He had to look at her to say it; he was abandoning her enough.

"Sev, I'm going with the Elves," he said carefully.

It was worse than he had anticipated. Realization struck Sev like a bludgeon, and she stared at Frodo with nothing less than shock. She broke away from him, backing into the cushions behind her, and her eyes immediately stung. Frodo reached for her, but she glared at him as though warning him to stay back.

She remembered when she had watched Elves leave for the Havens while she traveled with Frodo and Sam, the bitterness and horror she felt. It all came flooding back to her, now coupled with indescribable pain.

"How could you?!" She nearly jumped out of the wagon, and Frodo let his hands waver in the air as though to catch her before she could go anywhere. He tried to explain, but she continued. "Don't you remember those Elves? The Wood Elves from the adventure? Frodo, they were bright and wonderful, throwing their lives away. Why would you do it?" She gestured to him, speechless. "Look at you." Her voice choked as she realized just how wrong she was, that the words coming out of her mouth weren't as true as they used to be. "Bright, like them. You were never dark like . . . like . . ." She lifted her hand and gripped it hard so the blood started turning her skin ink black. "Like this."

Frodo sank into the seat. She really loathed herself as much as she seemed to. But she had to understand.

"Sev, I don't want to leave you. But life has become pain, and you are dying next month." It sounded sour coming out of his mouth, and he licked the inside of his cheek to clear it off. But it was the truth.

Sev blinked at him, not understanding. "I never told you that," she breathed.

Frodo swallowed and buried his hand in his cloak. "You didn't have to." He quickly produced her journal from within the folds of fabric. She gawked when she saw it. "You never had to say a word."

He handed it to her. She couldn't move very quickly as she accepted it. Her hands graced the sides; everything she had written, how she had poured her heart out, how ridiculous she had been . . . he'd read it all. She blushed for only a moment until she realized it would not matter.

She stared at it. She couldn't look at him.

Frodo set the journal down between them and tenderly picked up her hands with both of his own. He idly brushed his thumbs across the back of her knuckles, allowing her warmth to trickle into his arms. She bit her lip at the soft wistfulness of his touch, of the contact she held so dear to her heart.

"I read it while we traveled, thinking it was a novel," he admitted. She did not hold his hands as well, and he did not feel she had to. It was enough to have her there and not run from him. "I understood soon. I understood that you've lived with all of this pain, all of this darkness. I understood that you meant to die next month. And I understood—," He coughed and swallowed. "I learned that you have loved me for years. I should have noticed before, but it somehow wasn't obvious enough to me."

Sev stared up at him. "If you understand that pain, that darkness, how could you assume that you aren't strong enough to make it through your own? Why can I live through what I do and you must sacrifice yourself to your troubles?" She knew she just wanted him for that last month now. She knew she should have let it alone, but she finished speaking first.

Frodo breathed deeply. He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her back to him. She resisted only a little, but finally gave in and laid her arms about his neck. He leaned close to her cheek and brushed a long, tender kiss against it. When he finished, his lips touched her ear.

"I love you, Sev." He backed off, allowing his cheek and lips to touch the side of her face again as he hesitantly pulled away. He cupped her jaw and rubbed his thumb under her eye. "I won't survive when you go; I won't have a need to." He swallowed. "I'm sorry. I never should have agreed to leave."

Sev bit her lip and looked down at her lap. "It'll be the easiest way for you," she said. "And the less pain you're in, the better off I am."

"Sev—,"

Sev held up a hand. "Go with the Elves." She stared up at him, now realizing that Valinor would take care of him. "At least if you go I know you will be safe." She was quiet for a minute, struggling with herself, deciding what she wanted to say in their last moments alone. She nestled against his side; she had one last plea, one that was perfectly useless now. She didn't mean the Grey Havens when she spoke her thoughts a moment later: she meant taking the Ring, failing against the blackness that consumed him.

"Don't leave me, Frodo."

Frodo held her close, wrapped his arm around her. Sev adjusted by his side, allowing one of her hands to slide into place over his heart—she felt the thrumming there. At least he would be all right. Even if he did leave her forever today, he would go much more easily. She would know he had been taken care of, but tears fell from her eyes regardless. He wrapped a hand around hers, and a warm tingle traveled through both of them, one neither knew if they would feel again.

It took ten minutes for what Frodo said to honestly sink in to her. He was content to have her to the Grey Havens and let Bilbo do what he would . . . but Sev suddenly pulled away, staring him up and down. All of that would be gone. Those stars, that light, those hands, that bookishness. She choked a sob back—only a hopeless whimper escaped—and scrambled away from him.

"Sev!" Frodo reached for her, but she raced out of the wagon and tore up the hill before he could protest further. He wanted to go after her, but Sam helped Bilbo inside just then and shut the door in Frodo's face. He had not seen where she went, but he wanted to follow anyway.

Sev buckled against her log, and sobs racked her lungs as she nearly collapsed into her hole. She wanted to die right then, before Frodo left her. She blindly reached for her Assassin's Blade, and she found it at her side. She would have to wait until just before he boarded the ship. She wouldn't leave on this note, not yet.

She bitterly threw off her tears and raced back down the hill. Gandalf already nudged his horse into movement, so Frodo couldn't get out. He stared out the window. He watched Sev grab onto her horse—who danced around when he felt her agitation—and mount quickly. She sharply turned Thunderhome towards the Grey Havens, and he pawed the ground anxiously. She and the horse ran around in circles, far ahead of the slowly moving wagon and the three hobbits traveling around it. Thunderhome grew excited at Sev's sudden burst of energy as she led him suddenly from one curve of the road to the next.

Sev did not understand: Frodo didn't deserve this darkness. It had done nothing for him. She cursed the day the Ring was made, the day Shelob stung him, the day Morgul weapons had first been forged.

She turned her pleas to the sky. "Why couldn't I have taken it all?" Thunderhome whickered at her whimper. "Why couldn't I have suffered this pain? Why didn't you leave him alone? I should have had it all. Maybe it would have helped us all if I'd died in his place." She knew it would have helped. She just didn't know why it couldn't have been the way she felt was best.


	49. I Know Why It Makes Me Sad

**Anjion: I hope it's surprising. O.o Lord of the Rings is pretty much to a close in this one . . .**

 **By the way, this is my favorite chapter thus far. Hope you guys like! :)**

Frodo tried to sit still with Bilbo. Sev wasn't often within sight, and he couldn't keep staring at her.

Bilbo turned to Frodo, frail but still carrying a great deal of youth somewhere deep down. "Tell me, lad, where are we going again?"

"To the harbor, Bilbo." Frodo swallowed, biting back everything that wanted to burst from within him. "You've been awarded a special honor, to go with the Elves on the last ship to leave Middle Earth."

Bilbo nodded, satisfied. Then he turned back to his nephew.

"Frodo, is there any chance of my seeing that old ring of mine again?"

Frodo halted. Bilbo hadn't known the danger of his little trinket, the pain it had caused them all. He searched for words to say. "I'm sorry, uncle," he decided finally. "I'm afraid I lost it."

Bilbo was surprisingly understanding. "Oh! That's a sorry thing. I would much have liked to hold it one more time." He laid his head on Frodo's shoulder.

Frodo turned to glance back out at Sev, but the Ring came back to him. Flashes of nightmares from the adventure set in . . . but then so did she. Words she whispered to him, the tender things she did. The soft texture of her hands. Her lips, desperately shedding kisses all over his face when she found him in Cirith Ungol.

The hobbit blinked and quickly laid his head over Bilbo's. He needed to throw Sev out of his mind, seek healing. He wondered how long it would be before she faded from his memory . . . from his thoughts . . . from his need.

Perhaps he had only but to cross the sea.

But as he settled in place, he remembered having Sev right there beside him. Remembered her lifting him into her arms so many times to comfort him. Remembered every kiss that had ever happened.

Sev reached the Grey Havens far before anyone else did. She let Thunderhome go and assumed she wouldn't need him again. She said her goodbyes; the horse protested slightly, but understood her need to be gone—he felt the same. He nuzzled and licked her nose before turning away to graze. She held her tears back as she surveyed Thunderhome for perhaps the last time. He meant more to her than she realized, but she had no choice.

She paced until the other horses came in. She ushered hobbits down to the harbor and tethered their horses in a nearby field. Then the wagon came, and she set her shoulders. She didn't want to let him go. She couldn't.

To comfort herself, she fingered the knife at her side. But it wasn't as comforting as she had expected. She didn't want to die if it meant being apart from Frodo, yet she could do nothing to keep him.

Sev helped Bilbo out of the wagon, mostly to keep away from Frodo. But Frodo had been pondering the whole way down . . . and he needed to give her the ring. He also needed to kiss her, really feel her, before he left. He didn't need to do it alone, for it would be nothing too personal.

He gestured for Sam to take care of Bilbo, and the gardener complied. Sev stared after Sam uncertainly: that wasn't an uncharacteristic action, but she still was a little disappointed that he would turn about and take Bilbo off of her.

Sev continued briskly down towards the harbor. Frodo barely caught her shoulder, and she spun around. She almost glared at him, but her gaze softened when she really looked at him.

"Sev," he said. Then he paused; he didn't know how to word this, really. He lifted his hand to her face, cupped it carefully. His thumb traced her cheek, then brushed across her lips. His breath caught at the softness of them that he could only imagine pressed deeply against his own, being kissed and responding. He finally managed, "I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you."

Sev squeezed her eyes shut, then eased them back open. Her voice dripped with bitterness and sorrow. "You are. You're dying today, remember?" She turned away, almost ripping herself from his hand.

He followed silently. If she refused him, he didn't know what to do with her. She was often obstinate, but not about matters like this. Finally, though, the possibilities and definites of the future caught up to Sev, and she turned to him. He initially laced his fingers through hers.

"There is one more thing I have to say."

He didn't know what more she could tell him. He kept his mouth shut, waiting patiently.

She laid a hand over his heart, subconsciously fingered his shirt collar. "I told you, back at Osgiliath, that there is good in this world worth fighting for." She swallowed and flicked her gaze about. "If you read my journal, you probably think I was lying. But you are that good I'm fighting for, Frodo Baggins. And I will never stop fighting for you." She bit her lip and kept walking, but she didn't pull away from his hand. He followed her, almost feeling curious and a little dumbfounded.

He descended the steps with her, completely at a loss for words.

Bilbo gasped when he reached the harbor. There stood the Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, and Lord Elrond by a graceful, white ship.

"This is a sight I never thought I would see!" Bilbo exclaimed.

Galadriel smiled. "The age of the Elves has passed. Now the time has come for the dominion of men."

Elrond smiled as well. He seemed near tears; Sev realized he must have seen so much, and now was ready to leave behind this dark and troubled world. Even if it did need him, she decided bitterly. "The sea calls us home," he said in Elvish. Sev could only understand it because of the Elvish books Frodo owned and had allowed her to read.

Bilbo smiled and stepped away from Sam. "I think I'm quite ready for another adventure!" He and Elrond embarked onto the ship, and Celeborn followed. Galadriel shot Frodo an anticipatory smile. He just glanced back at her, uncertain as to how he ought to react to all of this. Sev's fingers twitched in his hand, and he remembered what kept him from racing onto that ship.

Gandalf stood before the small group. "Farewell, my brave hobbits." Sev's eyes widened slightly, but she understood. The rest of the hobbits—sans Frodo—immediately strained to hold back tears. "Here at last, on the shores of the sea, comes the end of our Fellowship on Middle Earth," Gandalf continued. He surveyed the hobbits, but showed little emotion of his own. "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil."

Sev released Frodo and grasped the wizard's hand. He smiled kindly. "Goodbye, my dear Seville." He stepped away in his graceful white robes towards the ship. But then he paused. Sev almost wished and hoped they would forget Frodo, but he wouldn't be happy here. She stiffly stepped away from the hobbits and grasped a stone statue for support.

"It is time, Frodo."

Gandalf's words hit her with almost as much impact as Frodo's had earlier, and she doubled over. She bit her lip and turned away.

The other hobbits shifted their gazes to Frodo, flabbergasted. Frodo almost felt guilty, but they might be happier not having to take care of him.

Sam started. "What does he mean?"

Frodo spoke softly. "Sev and I set out to save the Shire. And it has been saved . . . but not for me. It often happens, Sam, that when things are in danger someone must give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them." He swallowed bitterly when he realized that he was losing more than just his world, his Shire: no one could take care of Sev now, no matter how much he gave her up.

Sam shook his head. "You can't—you can't leave!"

Frodo pulled the Red Book of Westmarch from within his cloak and turned to Sev. She stared at it uncertainly as he held it out to her; her fingers brushed against his when she accepted the book.

"The last pages are for you, Sev."

She bit her tongue. _What could I write that will make the book a happy one? I have no ending, Frodo. Not like you do._ But it was a part of Frodo she could hold until her last breath, and so she gripped it tightly.

Frodo turned to Merry first; the poor hobbit was in tears. He embraced Frodo desperately. Frodo waited a long moment, realizing he would never see his friend again, not in this life. He released him and gazed into those tear-filled eyes. He then turned to Pippin and gently gathered him into his arms. Sam hugged Frodo fiercely—he would miss the dear gardener very much, but said nothing.

He turned at last to Sev. She set the book down, dreading this moment more than anything. She reached forward, and Frodo met her halfway, gripping her so tightly she thought she might die right there. She would have felt better for it, but did not kill herself, not yet. She held him as though she could keep him, as though she were strong enough to keep him from meeting his fate. She sobbed into his shoulder; she couldn't hold it all back, not anymore.

Frodo didn't feel the tears coming to his own eyes. He had promised himself not to be sorrowful, but he'd failed that: he had to coax himself away. He prodded and rubbed Sev's shoulders, trying to reassure her. But she would not be all right, and he couldn't shake that realization.

Sev swept her tears away. Frodo reached forward and tilted her head down, placing a wistful kiss on her forehead, the last there would ever be. No more mornings on the lawn . . . no more reading, no more warmth. He deepened it, then pulled back to look at her. She eyed him, wishing and pleading. Her fingers gripped the Blade at her side, but she had to finish the book first. She exhaled slowly and turned to leave him.

He kept a firm hand on her shoulder despite that. He tipped up her chin, and her eyes hesitantly met his own. He fingered away the tears brimming at her lashes, then very carefully touched her lips again, tracing his fingertips tenderly across them.

"Sev." It came out nothing more than a breath of air, but she heard it. She leaned up even as he came in for her, and their lips brushed carefully. Frodo's arms circled her, holding her close to him as they eased not into something physically evident, but some transcendent level of sorrow and desperation only the two of them could feel, locked and unaware of the surrounding world. Sev's hands rose up his chest to his shoulders, but caught when an intensely powerful draining filled her palms and replenished every inch of her bloodstream. Warmth coursed through Frodo, somewhat through the draining but primarily through the kiss. He deepened it against her, causing her to buckle a little. He caught her as her knees bent slightly.

He wanted to remember this goodbye forever, this parting with the woman he had loved for years and could not have.


	50. And Thus It Was

**Now begins the sappiness I was talking about. Nothing explicit at all; these scenes (that will carry on for tens of thousands of words in some relevant chapters, some angsty chapters, and some VERY fluffy ones) have been called "understated and sappy." You have been warned. Those of you that love romance will appreciate them.**

 **I suppose I wanted to supply the Fanfiction archive with non-explicit Frodo kissing scenes . . . here you have it.**

Sev was the one to break it off, once the draining finished. Frodo reached forward: that kiss had been more satisfying than anything he had ever done in his life, and he wanted nothing more than to keep it forever. He reached forward to kiss her again, but she spoke first.

"Frodo, I—,"

Gandalf stepped between them, kneeling down before Frodo. Sev fell back to allow him passage, too numb to be even jocosely bitter with the intrusion.

"Frodo, let me see your wounds," Gandalf said, suddenly interested.

Sev lifted an eyebrow as Frodo slowly removed his cloak. He handed it to Sev, and she wrapped it carefully in her arms. Frodo pushed aside the folds of his vest and shirt . . . only to find that the familiar chill in his shoulder had vanished, now nothing more than a simple, white scar. Shelob's sting as well; that was a small dot of scar tissue with no pain inside.

He stared at Gandalf. Sev gawked at her hands, which began to tremble.

"Gandalf, what have I done?" she muttered.

Gandalf shook his head, laying a hand on her shoulder. "You've healed him, Seville." He paused. "I didn't think those wounds could be mended."

Sev stared up at him. "But I thought I would get addicted to—,"

Willation's voice in her head stopped her.

 _Not if the poisons meld into one, into a new blood. And his injuries are permanent. You will never run out, not if you stay with him, and the addiction will be no more than that of a man's to food or water, assuming you do it right like I believe you will. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but Frodo had to be given the choice whether to leave or stay._ He smiled; she couldn't see him, but she could feel it with warmth throughout her body. Then he wished her luck and was gone. She stood, frozen, unsure how to process what Willation had just told her, if she was bitter with him for not telling her or uncontrollably grateful that she could save herself and Frodo.

"I think it wise, Frodo, to say that you should stay." Gandalf said.

Sev needed hear no more. She leaped past Gandalf and threw her arms around Frodo, locking her lips against his. A small, escalating sound escaped the back of Frodo's throat as he kissed her back. He still didn't entirely understand, but that didn't matter right then.

He thought Sev broke that one off too soon as well. She stared at Gandalf, about to ask him something, but Frodo dragged her right back in; Pippin and Merry snickered through their tears from behind Frodo. Sev gently pushed on Frodo's chest until she had backed up enough to look at Gandalf. She knew the answer to her question, but only had to hope Gandalf knew enough to let Frodo stay. "But he is not healed completely. Are not the wounds permanent?"

Gandalf stood, smiling broadly. "I do not know, but I believe Frodo feels well enough not to leave now."

He resisted a chuckle; Frodo trailed kisses down the side of her face. He felt like he could fly—the cold was gone, the sting had vanished, and he had Sev. She tried not to turn to him while she continued speaking to Gandalf. Resultantly Pippin and Merry stifled endless chuckles. "All my thanks to you, Gandalf. Have a pleasant journey, and find rest."

Gandalf nodded his head to her. "The same to you, Seville." He glanced up at Frodo, who halted what he was doing to pull Sev close to him. "I must now wish you farewell." He turned and walked slowly up onto the ship.

Frodo wrapped his arms around Sev's waist, backing her into his chest. The hobbits watched the white, graceful ship sink into the horizon, on the gentle waves into a sea of glass and a sky of glowing clouds. Pippin and Merry turned back first, still keeping themselves miraculously quiet, and Sam followed them. Sev moved to return to the Shire as well, but Frodo caught her before she could. He surveyed her ever so carefully, still somewhat in shock at the realization that he could stay. He only hoped his wounds were sufficient to keep her alive. He kissed her again, tenderly this time, cupping her face to keep it close to his for what he felt a sufficient time. He pecked her nose and brought her into his arms.

She laughed, a little sheepish. She'd never imagined kissing to be the way it was, particularly not with that draining. She could feel her blood running more powerfully than it had since she learned what she was. She embraced Frodo as well; he brushed his thumb across her shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," she managed.

He nodded. "I know. And neither am I."

With all the excitement, Sev quickly grew restless. She dragged Frodo back out of the harbor's range; somehow she felt that if he kissed her so much now, it would wear out. That and she feared physical contact just a little bit.

She summoned Thunderhome back, trembling a little as her horse whickered. She thought she would be dead before she heard that sound again. Frodo grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the horse, quickly following suit. She'd actually brought a saddle and bridle this time; Thunderhome was finally strong as well as healthy enough to carry something that heavy.

Sev excitedly clicked her heels against Thunderhome's barrel, and he sprang away, fueled by her energy. Frodo cinched his arms around her waist—the horse was a little less smooth of a ride than most, and faster than other horses as well. He consented to let Sev's warmth surround him, and laid his head on her shoulder.

The anti-creature bit her lip. Perhaps she wanted to take him around on Thunderhome more often. When they leaped over a log, Frodo hadn't expected it, and so tightened his hold on her. She cackled wickedly, then released Thunderhome's reins with one hand to wrap her arm around Frodo's.

She brought Thunderhome to a trot right in front of Bag End. The horse slowed to a stop, but still skittered about energetically for a moment before Frodo could slide off the back. He turned to help Sev down, and she dramatically fell over the side. He caught her with a slight bit of a sigh.

She blinked and looked up. "I didn't expect you to actually catch me. Thank you."

Frodo lifted her to her feet. The horse turned and galloped up a nearby hill as though to leave them alone.

"Perhaps one good turn deserves another," Frodo said, squeezing her close. He leaned forward to kiss her, but then Pippin and Merry began oohing loudly. Sev laughed lightly, if nothing else to keep from giving the two the satisfaction they wanted. Frodo shook his head and turned to glance down the road. Sam tried to push the two away, but they were fairly adamant about staying and watching until more kissing emerged.

Sev nudged Frodo rather casually. "Maybe a night at the Green Dragon will distract them. Besides, we must celebrate your stay, even if no one else knows you were leaving."

Frodo nodded slowly. He did need to get Merry and Pippin off of them, much as they were his friends.

Sev led the way, a little anxious about what Frodo might do. He seemed to like kissing, and that frightened her just a little bit. Not that she didn't, but her appeal came from emotional height, a high she knew would probably come and go as time passed. She hoped she had enough to keep him happy.

Sev slipped right behind Rosie's counter. The Gamgee paused, eyeing Sev's blush.

"Sev? Are you all right?"

Sev didn't even answer, just started filling mugs with ale. Frodo sat down, trying to avoid Pippin's gaze. That didn't entirely help.

Merry cleared a table and climbed up. Pippin followed suit, and they both began calling everyone's attention.

Sev ducked under the counter, but Rosie dragged her back up, unsure what was going on but certain it would be for the delight of the hobbit lass to have Sev close by. Merry gestured to the anti-creature.

"Ladies and gentlehobbits," Pippin started. Frodo sat behind Sam, squirming slightly.

"The spectacle you should have seen this afternoon!" Merry continued, swallowing a huge mouthful of ale.

Rosie stared at Sev while the two rambled on about how spectacular it all was without really explaining what they were talking about. At last she paused.

"It probably won't be as big as they're making it sound . . ." she said.

Sev nodded slowly. "I hope not. Leastwise, the other hobbits won't care. He's only doing it to embarrass us."

Rosie might have kept talking to her, might have kept her from embarrassment, had Pippin's next words not halted her. "For all those young ladies who might have had their eyes on Frodo . . ." Frodo blushed at this. "You will now be disappointed, as he kissed Sev this very afternoon!"

Rosie turned to Sev and embraced her tightly as the tavern exploded into whooping and cheering. "Aren't you excited?!"

The rest of the tavern wouldn't have been, save Pippin and Merry made such a huge deal of something most hobbits thought only mildly amusing, depending on who kissed whom. Gasps and cheers continued, although Sev doubted half the people inside cared at all. Perhaps gossip would spread for a while that the rich Baggins had found himself a girl to court, but likely it couldn't last long.

Frodo, right in the thick of the crowd, couldn't ignore anything around him. Sam timidly tried to let him escape the loud hobbits around him, but they kept clapping him on the shoulder. They were obviously at least a tad tipsy, if not full-blown drunkards.

Merry took advantage of this, rather entertained by the whole ordeal. He had been hoping to embarrass Frodo somehow, thinking it would cheer him up, and this was the first time he had the opportunity since they'd come home from their quest. He began stamping his foot on the table and chanting. "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

Pippin joined in. Sam could do nothing. Soon the whole Green Dragon drunkenly began chanting, completely unaware of who they were encouraging to kiss whom. Sev turned to Rosie, but even the lass—with more conviction than the rest of the men—pushed for it.

Sev turned bright purple (with the change in blood the color of her blush had changed, likely for the better) as Frodo finally conceded to walk up to the counter. He wanted to prove to them that he didn't have to meet their expectations. All the taunting made him just a tad defiant.

"Just two ales, if you would," Frodo said. He tried to look collected, but his gaze flickered to her black lips, lips he could imagine softly touching his own.

Sev nodded and hurriedly handed him two mugs. Rosie, seeing that this was going nowhere fast, pushed the mugs down, grabbed Frodo's sleeve, and yanked him about the counter. Sam turned pink; he dearly loved Rosie, but partially because she owned a persistence he only saved for situations of dire loyalty.

But Rosie felt this an act of loyalty as she goaded Frodo towards Sev, who backed into a close corner. Rosie knew she'd trapped them both, and she stepped away to watch. The tavern did not fall silent, for no one had noticed what had transpired. Frodo's gaze flickered up and down Sev's face. She fingered the wall behind her; her heart tried to break out and run away. Caught in a situation of fight-or-flight, she could only stand still.

Frodo carefully lowered his face close to hers, captivated by the feeling he knew: that spread of warmth from a soft center, not intense or passionate but fulfilling. Just comfortable, like the friendship they had known for so many years, the love he realized she had for him, how he was finally able to express his feelings for her. Words were not enough, and it would take years of kisses of varying kinds to tell her what he really felt.

He carefully touched his lips against hers, lightly. Sev was relieved it did not last more than a second: he had studied her face so closely that it was intimidating for her. A cheer erupted from behind them, and Frodo drew her into another kiss, one that made his pulse flutter excitedly and his fingers tingle with the light tenderness of it. This time, trusting that he would not take it more deeply than she would accept, Sev deliberately kissed him back.

Just as Frodo felt more light spreading through him than he'd ever imagined, Sev ducked under him and handed him his mugs before rushing back behind the barrels of ale. He watched her go, then slowly made his way back to Sam. They sat only for a moment before Pippin and Merry started clearing tables to the sides of the room for dancing.

Rosie watched Sam longingly, then turned and grabbed Sev, pulling her into the back room. She threw her a dress.

"Get in. We're going dancing."

Sev stared down at the dress: it looked to be her size, and she didn't know what she thought of that. She didn't like being a spectacle, but always had been in a way that she had grown to accept. It was brown with occasional strips or decorations in white from the collar to the skirt hem.

"Rosie—,"

"No protests," Rosie said, pinning her hair back. She reached forward and slipped a small, pink rose into Sev's hair, keeping the curls out of her face. "It's easier for a man to kiss you when you have that out of the way."

Sev didn't move. "You're not serious."

"Sev, just get into the dress." Rosie cocked her hips. Sev had to admit, the dress Rosie had on made her look more feminine. Sev almost craved that, but she thought Frodo wouldn't consider it the way she wanted. Rosie pushed once more. "You don't dance with Frodo, I don't dance with Sam." She pursed her bottom lip.

Sev sighed. "Anything you say, Mrs. Gamgee." She gave a flourishing bow and undid her cloak, trembling with uncertainty.

Frodo didn't touch his ale. Sam drank rather methodically . . . then stood up abruptly soon after the music started. Frodo turned to see Rosie come out from behind the counter in a lovely, flattering dress of bright blue with ribbons and flowers dotting her dress and hair. She extended a hand to Sam, and he swallowed. Frodo shoved him forward to her; Sam joined her in dancing.

Sev didn't want to step out. She thought she looked a little different, just from her eyes without a mirror. She'd never worn anything fitted before. Well, somewhat fitted: it was Rosie's, so it was tight some places and loose in others, but she managed to make it work. She didn't dare look in the mirror—she didn't want to.

Frodo sat, waiting for Sev. He assumed she wouldn't change; she wasn't the ornamented type. But, he realized with a slight sigh, she didn't think she would like flirting either.

He abruptly stood when she came out. She looked . . . stunning. Her hair was pinned back, organizing the curls just slightly around her face. Her dress, rich brown, was finally not a size too big, and it surprised Frodo to realize just how lovely she looked. Her skirt cut some three inches down past her knees, and she had short sleeves for once. Her arms were as pale as the rest of her. She held out a hand and trembled slightly: she didn't want to know what he thought of her.

"Don't give me that look," she said finally. He was studying her again, but this time he took it all in. She blinked, uncertain of what to think. "I know what I am, and I know how you dance. No high expectations."

Frodo accepted her hand, and warm tingles traveled up his arm. He stepped closer to her suddenly and drew her into a basic dancing position. The music was no waltz, but he managed to make it work. She followed, occasionally widening her steps to accommodate and try not to step on his toes. She would never trust her feet.

Although Sev was on edge the whole time, Frodo enjoyed the evening very much. His pains were gone; nothing could replace that weight now. He ran back with Sev up to Bag End, his hand wrapped in hers. But when they reached the front walk, she tugged away from him back towards the couch. He realized he hadn't proposed to her yet, that she wouldn't come in. He pulled her back with him, and she stared at him, confused. Her hand grew slick; she didn't trust that she could keep up with what he wanted in a woman. While she was rather typically sized for a hobbit, she didn't know if Frodo wanted that. Going along with his queer qualities, he might wish for a woman of a different sort. She sighed; she could change nothing. She'd inherited what she did from Sheratan, and couldn't complain about any of it.

"Sev, would you be willing to come inside for just a moment?"

She nodded and followed. She realized that it was silly to think Frodo would reject her, and decided that it was worth having him not think of her as wonderful as long as he stayed in the Shire. That ship . . . it was gone forever. She bit her lip.

Frodo let her inside, and as he turned to shut the door her gaze fell. She drifted away from him and sat, stunned, on the couch.

He turned to her and paused.

"What is it?"

Sev glanced up at him, her eyes flickering. She patted the couch, and Frodo sat down beside her. She breathed slowly, keeping back from all the pain within her as he sidled up to her. She wrapped her arms around him, laid his head beneath hers. Her fingers slipped through his hair as she spoke.

"I was going to lose you." She chuckled somewhat haltingly, realizing she was being a little ridiculous. "I guess it just hit me that hard." She swallowed, feeling his head with her hand. She gripped his shoulder with the other, rubbed slightly, and kissed the top of his head.

He shivered; tremors of warmth slipped through him as realization overcame Sev. She could touch him, she could hold him. Had one little stroke of decision been changed, she would not have been able to have him the moments she did. Wonderingly, she nuzzled his hair and kissed his head three more times before she finally pulled back and cupped his face in her hands.

"But you stayed."

Frodo smiled, a little dizzy. He settled into her hands, tired and warm.

She pressed her lips to his forehead. "But now you must rest."

Frodo nodded hesitantly. She stood up, and he followed. "I'll walk you back to your couch, Mademoiselle. Bag End is treacherous at this time of night."

Sev nodded in agreement, stifling a laugh. "Especially with that handsome, roguish Baggins roaming around. He's a dangerous one, and a little bit crazy." She nudged him, but before she could walk ahead of him he laughed and wrapped his arm around her waist.

He twisted the knob and escorted her outside, then down to the couch. They laughed, talked about Rosie and Sam a little bit. Her face grew warm when she thought about it.

Frodo sat her down, then joined her. He slowly traced her curls, tucked back with a rose, down to her jaw. He cupped her soft face in his hands and kissed her forehead. Sev let her eyes drift closed, allowing realization of affection to settle over her gently. He left the kiss for a long time, and every second she grew more and more giddy.

He broke away, and she smiled up at him.

"Good night, Frodo."

But he wasn't quite done yet.

Frodo glanced at her for a moment, gauging where her lips were, and kissed her very slowly. His eyes rolled to the back of his head; their first kiss had been desperate and wistful, but this held no pressure from anything or anyone for him. It was all warmth, comfort, and affection, the reality that some other creature in the world wanted him more than anything. She kissed him back. His fingers drifted to the back of her neck and her shoulders, holding her close.

But after a minute or so Sev knew he would want not something untoward, but a kiss she was not ready for. She broke away from him, very carefully so as not to appear cold. Frodo leaned in to bring her back, but figured he could wait on that. Hopefully she would be happy enough in the morning to let him kiss her more.

"Good night, Sev," Frodo said finally. He traced her cheek once more and slipped back into Bag End.

Sev didn't rest at all. She fingered her lips; every kiss was important to her. As long as she was out of the scenario, it didn't frighten her so much. She glanced over the back of the couch, but she knew she had to wait until morning to talk to him.

Frodo fingered the ring at his desk, then went and laid on the couch. Four years. Four years he had carried this ring, longer than he'd even known of the One Ring's power. And despite the burden of this one, it bore healing in every little lattice of stone.

 **Thanks so much for reading! I would love reviews, and a big thanks to those that have thus far! :)**


	51. At Long Last - Fluffy, Minor Plot

**Anjion - Thanks! I need cranberry juice! :D If the rest of the story isn't as entertaining I'll understand; it's angsty and sappy from top to bottom, not much moving around, very fluffy. If that makes any sense. O.o**

 **Speaking of that, though, this one-if you can consider the rest of the story "storyline"-I've decided to describe as VERY fluffy, but a nice little bow to tie for a semi-ending after next chapter. It does lead to more mini-plot, there is actual structure, I promise. It's just packed with as much fluff as I can manage. ;)**

 **And I suppose I forgot to mention, but in the last chapter when she holds him on the couch and kisses him-that was a dream I had a while ago. And I changed it a great deal, but there are a couple of places in these chapters where it's based on something I dreamed about.**

Somehow the anti-creature slept without risk of dying. She didn't understand quite why she felt tired, but she rested anyway. Her blood was strong and prodded her to sleep.

Frodo awakened before sunrise, anxious and still on the couch. His skin pricked as he paced in his front room, eyeing the world outside. He couldn't see Sev, but he hoped she was still there, that she hadn't left.

The sun dragged on its way to the horizon; Frodo finally broke out of Bag End and raced down the lawn to awaken her. But when he saw her his pace slowed. He gently leaned down and brushed his fingers against her face, adding a slight bit of pressure until she awakened. Her eyes flickered, and she yawned until she saw him.

"Sev," he said. "I want to show you something." He checked his pocket for the ring again, then extended his hand to her. He thought he anticipated the rush of warmth correctly, but it scattered up his arm more starkly than he had imagined before. She followed him up the hill he'd selected, one overlooking her log and the party field. She could see the sunrise, Thunderhome, Bag End, even the Brandywine although it was so far away.

When they reached the top, neither seemed to want to sit down. Sev leaned back against the blossoming tree on the hill, watching Frodo expectantly.

He nodded at the sunrise. "It's another day in the Shire . . . one I didn't think I'd see."

"I didn't think you would either." Sev rose from her slouch and nudged him. "You devil. Running off like that, scare me half to death. I thought we weren't going to leave each other."

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "You did it first."

She brought her forehead against his, glaring jocosely. Frodo stifled a chuckle. "I confess—no, I don't confess. That wasn't my decision." They laughed for a moment, more relieved at the situation than entertained. But Frodo brought it to a halt, remembering why he had come up here.

He slipped the ring into his hand and swallowed. He couldn't help it; his heart fluttered wildly as he thought of everything that could be now, the confidence and affection that need not be stopped. She would be at home always; he could hold her with no fear of having to let her go.

Sev cocked her head as his hand came out of his pocket and unfolded. She gasped when she saw it glimmer in the light. The band of metal was mithril, and every stone within caught her. But even more than that, she couldn't reign in her hopes. She stared up at him.

"When I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you," he said around his initial fear, "I meant it. And you said that if you could have married anyone . . ." He didn't finish. He wanted to hear her reiterate it so he couldn't get her message wrong.

She was more than happy to carry it out again: the words tasted like sweet sugar on her tongue, but more satisfying. "It would have been you." She reached up initially and kissed his forehead; her hand laid on his heart. "And I absolutely will." She pecked his nose, wondering at how she could now touch him . . . how she could be forever with the one she'd loved for so many years.

Frodo moved to take the metal ring from her finger and replace it, but she shook her head.

"A marriage is not the end of a friendship," she said. She traced her name on the etching, then shifted the ring to her other hand.

Frodo grinned slightly. "I should hope not." He then slipped the larger ring over her finger. It was a little loose on the ring finger, so she slipped it to her third one; so much for moving the metal ring. He ignored that, cupped the back of her head and kissed her soundly. She inhaled slowly, letting her hands drift through his hair. She broke it off to thank him, but he needed no words. He kissed her again, pecked her lips a third time before pulling fully away. She laid her head on his shoulder as the sun rose in the distance, shedding light over the glimmering Shire.

When Sev approached Rosie for help, she sheepishly brought up that she was getting married before she could ask anything. Rosie squeaked excitedly and nearly hugged the life out of Sev; she then dragged Sev and Frodo inside and shoved them in with Sam.

"Samwise! Sam!" Rosie cried.

Sam glanced up from where he was playing with Elanor on the floor.

Rosie squeezed Frodo and Sev together from behind. "They're getting married, Sam!"

Sam stood and embraced them both powerfully, and simultaneously. Sev's eyes bulged.

"Congratulations, Mr. Frodo!" He shook Frodo's hand with both of his own, and the poor hobbit—completely breathless—just nodded in response.

"Coming from one who has been married five years, Sam," Frodo gasped, "that means a great deal more than you know."

Sam turned to Sev and held her hand in both of his, more softly than he had Frodo's. "You'll keep him safe, won't you, Ms. Sev?"

Sev rolled up her sleeves. "Exactly that, Sam. Thank you." She turned back to Rosie. "Now, I've come to ask you, as you have experience, when would be the best time to have the wedding?"

Rosie blew a raspberry, pondering.

"Two weeks?" Frodo said hopefully. He knew nothing about the preparations, but hoped it wouldn't take long.

Rosie gaped at him, and Sam blanched just a little. "Two weeks?!" she exclaimed. "No, no, no."

"Sooner?" Sev interjected. "Rosie, this wedding will not be very big."

Rosie laughed. "Knowing the Bagginses, it will be a grand wedding. You'll need at least the whole summer to plan and prepare everything. I say seven months; I would have liked that much time at least."

That brought a gawk to Frodo, and Sev stared at her friend with disbelief.

"Seven months?" Frodo managed.

Sev shook her head. "Too long, Rosie. We can't do seven months; there's no way either of us would make it."

Rosie paused, fingering her lips. Then she shrugged. "You made it through almost 20 years of friendship; you need seven months."

Frodo shook his head vehemently.

"What about five?" Sam offered before Rosie could hit her case home with Frodo, for her husband knew she would brook no argument without a decent compromise. "Five months from today is Mr. Frodo's birthday."

Sev jumped on that idea. Frodo still felt like it was a long time, but he decided he could wait. He nodded in affirmation, and Rosie reluctantly agreed, throwing Sam a hinting smile. Frodo moved to take Sev back to Bag End—looking forward to a day with just the two of them—when Rosie grabbed her arm.

"Come. No delays; five months is not nearly enough time!"

Sev paused, following Rosie very hesitantly as she looked back at Frodo. Rosie nodded and released Sev.

"But only for today," Rosie warned. "First thing in the morning we get started on preparations." She glanced over at Frodo. "You won't see her between tomorrow and the wedding, so get it all out now."

Frodo extended his hand to Sev; she accepted, and they walked out of the Gamgee home together, back to Bag End.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she said simply, afraid of what he really wanted.

Frodo blinked at her. "What?" He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "Just come inside. Rosie said it would be the solid five months before I got to see you."

"Somehow I don't doubt you will worm your way through that," Sev said, glancing down at the front step. She turned back to look at him. "A day would be nice, though." Then she stared at the door. "We would need to talk about a few things."

Frodo grew slightly solemn.

"Simple things," Sev said hurriedly. "Arrangements for roles in the home, the little things to straighten out. Differences, compromises. Knowing both of us, there will be things."

Frodo exhaled slowly. "Come." He opened the door; he thought he could distract her enough.

They ended up squeezing in conversation, but Sev realized Frodo was unnaturally pliable to anything she had to say in circumstances like this. She conceded to let him hold her on the couch. She sat underneath his arm, to his side, and he held her close to him. She thought she was making good progress: they got a few points covered that she had considered, but he said something very sweet, and she kissed his cheek.

That turned him on. He wrapped his other arm around her, and although she sat as angled away from him as possible, he managed to get a kiss in every few words, whether it be to her nose or her hand or her forehead.

"The last thing I thought of," she said, at about the middle of the afternoon, "was night habits. I like to prowl, and I won't be in any danger if I do so. You need sleep, and I figure staying here would just distract you from getting any rest." She paused. "At the rate you're getting dizzy now, that is."

Frodo nodded. "Prowling shouldn't be an issue." He reached forward on an impulse and pressed his lips against hers, gathering her close. She let her thoughts scatter and settled in place, her legs wrapped up on one of the couch cushions.

She broke it off to speak. "My point exactly," she murmured. Then she glanced at the floor. "Was there anything you were concerned about?"

Frodo shook his head, either adamant or vigorous. He frankly didn't mind which he seemed or felt. He kissed her again intently; he felt at home with his lips against hers, although didn't consider at the time whether or not she felt the same.

"I suppose there was one thing," he muttered when he pulled away.

Sev's eyes flickered back open. "And what is that?"

He kissed her nose. "That you're too serious about this. Relax a little bit. Enjoy it if you can allow yourself." He squeezed her shoulders, and she sighed. "You're going to be stressed enough over the next few months. Give this day just to the two of us."

Sev nodded, and her head rested against his neck. She folded into her brown dress. "I suppose you're right. But we can't just sit here kissing the whole time."

Frodo eyed her doubtfully, then began to trail kisses across her forehead and down her cheek, to the joint of her jaw. "I'm certain we could."

Sev laughed nervously and pushed him back to look at him. "But a bit of reading is in order."

"And cuddling," Pippin piped up. Sev shot to her feet, nearly falling over on the floor; before she could, Frodo caught her hand and stood. Pippin grinned, then walked slowly inside.

"I knocked, but apparently you two were too busy to hear me," he said, stifling a laugh.

"How long have you been standing there?" Sev didn't sound upset . . . but it chagrined her a little bit. She hoped he didn't hold it all against them after this, or tease them about it. She decided eventually it would become so casual that none of them really cared.

Pippin shrugged. "I didn't see much if that's what you mean. I think Frodo's a little distracted," he said, nodding to his cousin. "I also think I heard something about wedding bells in the coming months?"

Frodo let his eyes close. "Has Rosie been spreading such things so soon?"

Pippin shook his head with a bright grin. "No—that would be your honorable lady Elanor."

Sev laughed. "Indeed, Pippin. No harm done, then; what is it?"

"I just came over to see if she was right." He paused, eyeing their hands, then flicking his gaze back to the couch. "I suppose she was."

Sev nodded quickly. "Verified. Preparations are to begin tomorrow."

Pippin's eyebrows shot up, and Merry poked his head in. "Where do we go to . . .?" He paused, searching for the right words. "Give input. Make suggestions."

Frodo shot Sev a worried look, but she seemed rather nonchalant. As long as the two of them were married by the end of the day without anybody dead, she would be fine with whatever they had planned. She tossed her head.

"The Gamgees'. You'd better hurry; Rosie probably has every last little detail sketched out and being set in stone."

Pippin and Merry shot out the door without another word. Merry eventually shouted from the window: "Congratulations!" He waved hugely and raced after Pippin.

Sev exhaled slowly, although she did not sound relieved. She sounded content. She flopped back down onto the couch, and Frodo sat by her feet. She finally got back up and slipped over next to him.

"I think Pippin knows more about this stuff than I do," she admitted. She nestled against his arm.

Frodo blinked at her. "Why do you say that?" He wrapped his arms around her. "He's not even engaged."

Sev shrugged against his shoulder. "I don't have the typical capacity for affection, and sometimes I wonder if mine will ever be enough to make you happy." She reached over his lap and lifted a book from the table by the couch and set it down behind her. She looked up at his questioning expression. "Just something to read for later."

Frodo buried his jaw in her hair. "Much later."

Sev decided to wait until he wanted to get up. He just felt like holding her then, as memories trickled back to him, times he wished he could have had her like this. Simple, not overbearing or invasive, but affectionate. He fingered her arm; she sat as though frightened, young or exhausted, but he assumed this was normal, for he had held her no other way save when they comforted each other.

She would never let go of her fear of physical contact. Although it was most pleasant in the circumstances she found herself in, it wouldn't be remedied. But she felt a good deal for him, and therefore did not stop herself.

They sat like that for a few hours. She was content not to move, and her warmth lulled him into a gentle rest, one like he hadn't had in a long time. He gently held her closer as time passed, laying his head on her own.

Sev thought about what the day would have been like if he left. She nestled into his arms, now limp around her shoulders. It comforted her, then, to be surrounded by the hobbit she might have lost. She wriggled her arms out from around her buckled knees and wrapped them around his neck. She kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for staying." She flicked her gaze to his jaw, then touched her lips to his. "I wouldn't have anything else in the world."

Frodo's eyes flickered open. He hadn't picked up any of what she had just said, but he did feel that softness brush his lips. He pulled her back into a kiss, held her there for a while before letting go.

Since she had lifted her arms out, Frodo now held her by the waist. She reached back over his arm and slipped the book up off the couch. Frodo complied, releasing her so she could sit fully down against the cushions.

They read and talked the rest of the day. That night, they were both laughing rather hard, courtesy of Frodo proposing a contest. It started out just as Frodo trying to distract Sev from eating, but hinting that she should come and sit on his lap throughout dinner was not helpful, so he tried to get her to laugh instead. She was barely able to touch her food, and started firing back at him.

She stayed up with him until the middle of the night. They walked outside, but Frodo took her to the back lawn. He didn't want her to leave him, not yet. He wanted to spend every possible second with her before she vanished under Rosie's plans for five months.

They laid on their backs, facing the stars. Sev folded her hands behind her head, and Frodo did the same.

"Your birthday," she said. She turned to him. "You weren't proposing, were you?"

Frodo shrugged. "Not entirely: you said something at Minas Tirith about not being ready to think."

She sighed and reached for his hand. Their fingers entwined slowly. "I'm glad you did though. The ring is beautiful; where did you get it?"

He leaned forward and kissed her hand. "Bilbo brought it home. Apparently Balin or Dwalin or—," He paused. "I cannot recall which dwarf it was, but one was convinced Bilbo would come back and be married, so he forged this ring. Obviously Bilbo never used it." He hesitated, wondering if the background would mean anything to her. "And I thought that it was precious enough."

Sev grinned: a ring with a little bit of history. She liked that; it had some form of bookish _ding_ to it. She propped herself up and kissed him. "It is precious." She ruffled his hair. "And so are you. Don't forget that."

She refused to sleep back there, even though Frodo promised to move to the other side of the lawn. She said she wanted her couch, and he needed to rest in a proper bed. She dragged him back inside; he was a little tired, having gotten no sleep the night before and being awake half of the present night. He acted more tired than he felt, because he found that she did her best to hold him up (initially weak as she was), and therefore touched him more as he moved less capably. He made a note to ask Pippin of the conventionality of that concept.

Sev embraced him. "Good night, Frodo."

He tilted her chin up and carefully looked her over—her eyes flickered apprehensively. She couldn't have explained why that expression frightened her so much; he didn't mean to do anything to her.

"Good night, my Sev." He leaned forward slowly and brushed his lips against hers, then caught there and pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her hands around his neck to stay upright. He hadn't gone absurdly deep, but it still made her dizzy.

When he was relaxed enough that she could back out, she wormed carefully away from him. She ruffled his hair, then grabbed his sleeve and brought him to his bedroom door.

"Now go to sleep. I'll see you in five months." She turned slowly, wishing she could kiss him once more, but she resisted and walked out the front door.

As Frodo slipped under the thick blanket, he felt like the world was perfect. But somehow something itched on him. Nothing bad, just . . . something that he'd wanted to bring up earlier in the day that he hadn't remembered when she asked. He shrugged and nestled into the pillows.

Sev sat out on her couch.

"Thank you, Willation," she whispered. Her hands clasped, and she pressed them against her jaw. She remembered every kiss, every touch, that day. The conflict—her fears—melted away in the gratitude she felt. "Thank you so much."

Rosie began her march to Bag End before the sun was even up. Frodo didn't think to awaken before she got there, but Sev was sitting and waiting. Rosie approached the front step, then paused and curtsied.

"May I come in, Mrs. _Frodo_ Baggins?"

Sev gaped at her for only a moment. "I'm not Mrs. _Frodo_ Baggins yet." Frodo's eyes opened wide when he heard her, and he shot up in bed. "Don't let me get ahead of myself. I might disappear into that hole and not come out for the preparations," she continued.

Rosie put her hands on her hips. "You would have been calling me Mrs. Gamgee while I was engaged if you had been here." She held out her hands. "Come on; it's time. I have a list, and you must look it over and then plan with me." She glanced back at Bag End while Sev made her way up the walk. "And Sam has some lecturing for your . . . how did Pippin describe it? Cuddling companion?"

Sev rubbed the ridge of her nose between her fingers. "I'm coming, Rosie," she managed, opening the gate. Frodo leaped out of Bag End and raced down the walk, catching her wrist before she could go anywhere.

"Frodo," Rosie pouted teasingly, "I told you that after this morning—,"

Frodo didn't even mark that. He spun Sev around and pressed his lips to hers desperately. Rosie smiled and backed away towards her home; Sev would catch up in a moment or two.

Sev's hands rubbed over his back. She would miss him for a while, if Rosie lived up to her expectations of preparation intensity. She eased out of the kiss despite Frodo's persistence and settled on her feet.

"I'll miss you."

He pecked her lips again. "Good luck to you."

"Sam has some things to tell you."

"Sev!" Rosie called out hintingly.

Sev broke away from Frodo and waved as she went.

He watched her go . . . and then it hit him: what he'd been bothered about all night. "Sev!" He caught up to her, and as they ran to the Gamgees', he spoke to her.

"Sev, I never asked you. Sam told me this was the most important thing to talk about, and I never did it."

She nodded. "What is it?"

"A family, Sev. How many children do you want?" He paused; he realized perhaps this subject was a bit touchier than he'd initially thought in his hurry. "If any. I mean—,"

Sev halted abruptly, and Frodo stumbled staying back with her. Her expression . . . he didn't know how to begin to describe it. It was some terrifying blend of horror and bitterness. She stared up at him, almost afraid of why he would ask that question. He had read her journal, and if he had he would have seen the entry in which she wrote down her experiences with Willation.

Of course, that was after the adventure, after he'd read it. But she didn't think about that.

She threw her hands in the air. She wanted a family so badly, and was actually a little stung by the fact that she couldn't have one. And yet it was such a common discussion topic amongst spouses and fiancées.

"Tronian curses . . ." She blew a raspberry. The look in his eyes convinced her that he had read her journal, but regretted what he had said. In reality he only was confused by her reaction, and hoped he hadn't offended or scared her. She shook her head; her words were, in her mind, laced with sarcasm, but Frodo heard pining.

"I always wanted a big family," she blurted finally. "Nine children at least, although fourteen would be nice. As many as is possible, let me put it that way."

Frodo's eyes bulged. "Fourteen!" Not even the Bracegirdles had that many children. They topped at twelve, and were currently the largest family in the Shire.

She nodded assertively, then waved it off. "Never mind that." She dismissed the daydream—watching little girls with red curls and Frodo's blue eyes, little boys racing around Bag End, listing off their sweet names one by one as she stood in Frodo's arms—and anticipated he would leave the subject be as well. He grabbed her arm before she could turn away.

"I'm sorry. If that's really what you want . . . then we'll have a family when you're ready."

Sev swallowed and nodded. "Thank you." Her voice trembled, both with fear of why Frodo would have been asking and deep, scarring sorrow at her lack of ability to be a mother.

Frodo was certain he'd scared her. She probably wanted a family, but not everything that came with it. Kissing had turned her off, relative to what Frodo had seen in the reactions of those that flirted with Merry and Pippin. He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.

"Not until you're ready," he insisted. Rosie poked her head out of the door and grabbed Sev.

"My dear, if you wish to get everything done . . ." she said, half joking and half serious. Sam reached out and took Frodo aside.

Sam and Frodo managed to get sleep, and actually kept things fairly relaxed. Frodo hoped Rosie would do the same, but the woman was a taskmaster, and her whole work ethic revolved around Sev's opinions. There were not very many, and it almost irritated Rosie. But Rosie was patient (as much as she could be), and things were done one little bit at a time. The cake was planned, invitations and decorations were organized . . . quite frankly Sev did not care two bits about the whole thing. But it made Rosie happy, as well as Elanor on the occasions that Rosie thought it suitable, so Sev went right along with it.

Mostly, as the world whirred around her, Sev pondered what Frodo had asked her. A family. Children. She could not have them. She felt broken. Except she had never been whole either; she wasn't broken, just dysfunctional. She'd never quite worked right, and wondered why she had been lucky enough to get married anyway. On those days when Rosie would wrap her in white fabric and pin her tightly from head to toe for the wedding dress, she felt even less useful, like she was really a prop in the background of everything.

She missed Frodo.

But then she wondered how, if he knew everything about her that he did, he could possibly love her.

She stayed up late doing what Rosie fell asleep trying to get done. She never got sleep, which was not an issue. Frodo tried to find her late at night and early in the morning, but she never stopped, not when she could actually get something done. She wondered occasionally if Rosie had stacked up so much to keep her busy on purpose. She could only wave at Frodo once in a while, and even so he would reach forward for her and Rosie would drag her off.

As the day approached, Frodo grew restless. He'd been trying to enjoy his time with Pippin and Merry—and sometimes Sam—and it had worked to an extent. But he soon counted down the days to his birthday, to the day he could take Sev home for good. He tried to find her at the Gamgees', but soon it became such a frequent occurrence that even Elanor had memorized the exact words to "kindly escort Mr. Frodo outside while his cuddling companion worked." It didn't frustrate him, but he worked relentlessly. To put it plainly he felt like he wanted to kiss her again.

The night right before the wedding day, he saw her prowling. He slipped after her; he knew to alert her would be to alert Rosie as well, wherever Sam's wife might be hiding. Frodo glanced around before going after Sev.

Sev just needed some white roses, ones Rosie wanted to sow into the skirt of the dress. Sev loved the design for the dress, but despite all the work Rosie had put into it Sev didn't know if it would fit. Dresses often were the wrong shape for Sev.

She found white roses by the river, only three of them. Rosie had wanted five or six, but Sev figured it would have to do. She plucked the blossoms carefully. Frodo followed her across the mist, then back to Rosie; he sighed when he watched her snake into the house. He heard a loud celebratory exclamation, and he glanced through the window. Rosie and Elanor whirled away with the roses into another room.

He watched Sev, cocking his head against the windowsill. She stood somewhat wistfully, not quite paying attention to her surroundings. She flicked her hair across the ends of her curls; she fingered them with naïve concentration. She paced around the room, distracted. He wanted to go in and kiss her, but Rosie's voice snapped him out of it.

"Sev!" Rosie called out, almost in a pining excitement. She poked her head back out of the adjacent room where she had disappeared with the roses. "It's perfect! You must come look!"

Sev smiled, but she didn't feel like smiling. She was excited for the next day, surely enough . . . but she felt sick. What if Frodo wanted something better and wouldn't find that out for himself until it was too late? She didn't want to disappoint him.

She slipped out of Frodo's sight, and he sat back. Hopefully she would reemerge—he gathered Rosie would finally let her rest the night before her wedding.

Sev couldn't stop staring at the dress; she only hoped she could actually wear the thing, that by some miracle it would fit. Pearls draped the front, and the skirt looked like it would swish around her feet. The sleeves were cut two inches below the elbows, and had slits of translucent white fabric protruding from the center of each. She fingered the silk, entranced. A fluffy white cloak came down to the knees of the dress, reflecting the length of her Lorien cloak. A white stone clipped the cloak together. The roses were sown in, one at the center of the neckline and the other two up by her shoulders.

"Do you like it?" Rosie whispered excitedly.

Sev nodded. "Rosie, I love it." She embraced her friend. "Thank you so much . . . for everything. I don't know if this would have been possible without you."

Rosie smiled and held Sev tightly before setting her down. "My dear, I'm sure you would have figured it out eventually. Don't thank me just yet; we're not done."

Frodo shifted from one window to another, slipping his head inside to watch them.

"Not done?" Sev's brow creased. "What more is there to do?" She picked up a huge roll of paper off the floor. "Everything is checked off." She scanned it, scrolled over it entirely, but she couldn't find anything unmarked.

Rosie sat her down.

"Darling, it's not over until the wedding is done. You've got to try the dress on . . . once I add the ribbon. Then you can go rest." Rosie paused. "Actually, we've got to finish the cake as well. And get the flowers up on the poles—never mind. No rest until after tomorrow. Besides, I promised Frodo he couldn't see you until five months were up." She winked, then grabbed a white, slightly glimmering ribbon from her side desk. She pulled a silver pair of scissors from the table as well and snipped the strip into pieces. She tied one piece around the waist at the border of the bodice, then the other two at the ends of the sleeves. Sev handed her a needle with white thread (there were eighty or so of them scattered all over the room; Sev could pick up any of them when necessary), and Rosie hurriedly attached the ribbons, stuck solid to the fabric.

"Now I'll go put Elanor to bed, and you get into the dress." Rosie ushered her little girl (who yawned loudly despite her protests that she wanted to see Sev in the dress) out of the room. Sev watched them go, fingering the dress distantly. She realized in that moment that Frodo knew exactly how her brain worked . . . or might have after reading her journal. At least he could get a general idea if he wished, but she only hoped he knew what he was marrying in to. She conceded that they had been friends for over 17 years, so it would be fine.

Frodo propped himself up on the windowsill with his hands and whispered so Rosie didn't hear.

"Sev!"

Sev turned from the dress. Frodo couldn't see it very well, as it wasn't his focal point. She stepped over to him rather slowly, a little surprised and very happy to see him. Conflict kept her from grabbing him and crushing her lips against his. She knelt down as she approached him.

"Hello. You look somewhat familiar; do I know you from somewhere?" she said, entwining her fingers with his.

Frodo shook his head. "I am the phantom that haunts you, Seville Baggins."

She gasped. "A devil! And a spy. But you are mistaken; I am not Sev Baggins." She paused. "Not for another fourteen hours."

Frodo sighed and kissed her hand. "Fourteen hours." He smiled, but didn't take her hand away from his lips. "Is that such a difference? Could you not be a Baggins right now?"

Sev lifted an eyebrow. "Perhaps, but what difference would it make to a phantom?"

He reached through the window and grabbed her back just above the waist to lift her up. She complied, not quite coming out of the window as he had hoped. She sat on the sill, and he knelt down by her. He looked her over, fingered her hair out of the way of her face.

"It makes no difference to a phantom," he said softly, "but it means you have something you never had. You have a family, a last name, and a home. And a husband that wants you and loves you."

Sev smiled, and a strong blush rose to her face. She didn't know that she could say anything that would make him feel as . . . satisfied, or fill him with as much ecstasy, as the words he had just said to her. "A very handsome, very sweet husband," she murmured, "that I love more than he could ever know." She embraced him, laid her head against his shoulder. "I would do anything for him. I am honored to have his last name, for it means I will have no one else. You're a phantom; you'll tell him, won't you?"

Frodo nodded slowly, burying the side of his head in her hair. He hadn't felt her warmth for five months; he'd missed it.

She smiled and pulled away. "Take a kiss for him too, will you?" Her blush intensified, and Frodo laughed lightly.

He allowed the moment to settle before he traced her jaw tenderly with his fingers. He faintly tipped her face down towards him, then leaned forward. He allowed the warmth to overwhelm him. Her lips were so close, but he could not yet feel them . . .

"Seville Baggins, you don't have enough time!" Sev jolted, just missing Frodo as she sank to the floor. She threw him down past the windowsill and stood upright as Rosie walked inside. She cocked her head.

"Sev? You look warm; are you all right?" In truth she heard them talking, but didn't want to interrupt: they simply didn't have time to kiss longer than the silence said they had.

Sev nodded slowly. "Just very nervous." She sighed. "And thinking about Frodo." She flicked her gaze back to the window.

Rosie nodded. "All right, let's get you into that dress. A wonder you didn't put it on while I was gone." She shrugged, then eyed Sev's sheepish pause. "I'll wager that blasted Baggins was roaming around." Her voice escalated slightly.

Sev grabbed Rosie's arm. "Yes, he was. I assume he's long gone by now, but if not I hope you'll let him stay."

Rosie mused over that. "She's trying on the dress, Mr. Frodo, so go back to Bag End and get some sleep. Tomorrow's the biggest day of your life, all right?"

Frodo snuck around to the other side of the house. Sev would come out eventually, and he didn't need to hide if he could change his position. Rosie would have to sleep at some point; likely Sam would drag her to bed.

Unless, of course, Sam was in with Elanor like any Samwise Gamgee would be, supporting his lovely wife during a busy time. Frodo muttered to himself as he wound to the other side of the house.

Sev breathed, satisfied, as the dress slipped into place around her. Rosie spun her towards the mirror, and Sev cocked her head. That didn't look normal. It looked right, maybe a little bit attractive, but not normal.

"White sets off the red," Rosie said, flicking Sev's curls. "All right. Out of the dress; we'll go finish the cake."

Sev laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Rosie, you need sleep."

Rosie didn't respond with anything more than an exhausted yawn as she undid the ties at Sev's back. After donning her brown dress again, Sev followed Rosie into the kitchen. The cake stood, huge and lovely, on the main table.

Frodo watched them as they began the last touches. Rosie slumped against the floor after only ten or twenty minutes. Sev glanced down, a little surprised. She finished the cake before dragging Rosie to a nearby couch.

"How I wish you had a Morgul stab on your elbow," Sev muttered as she tried to lift her friend. Frodo stifled a chuckle. But as he watched Rosie, he too grew tired. He laid down against the soft grass to wait, but fell asleep actually fairly quickly.

Sev embraced Rosie as she laid her down on the couch.

"I can't thank you enough. I really couldn't have done this alone." Sev traced Rosie's forehead with a finger, then moved over to the window. She sat rather dramatically on the sill, then chuckled at herself. "You're not graceful, you know."

She sighed. She wanted to be graceful. She glanced down at Frodo, curled up under the window. She cocked her head, taken aback by his slender face and how young he looked; then realization hit her with a start just how young he _was_. He'd come of age only a couple of years ago.

And somehow he carried that youthfulness through all his struggles. He may have become wiser, but something within him still reminded her of that young man she met.

Sev clambered down from the window and kissed his cheek. She thought it would only be a moment, but then it hit her. His face was soft, relaxed . . . _her_ Frodo. She let the kiss stay, relishing in that one second.

She didn't like affectionate nicknames very much, but in that moment she felt like she needed one outside of "devil." Frodo looked anything but devilish; but even if he did look devilish, she would still love him.

"Rest well, love." She bit her lip, surprised at her own nickname for him, and laid her head against the window. "I'll marry you tomorrow."


	52. Wedding Day - LOTS of Fluff, Major Plot

**Anjion: :D I'm glad you still like it, even though it's getting fluffier than it was before.**

Rosie stirred on the couch early; Sev sprang from the window to help her up. Everything last-minute had to be packed in, well, last-minute. Rosie helped her mostly.

Frodo didn't awaken. Sam, Pippin, Merry, and Elanor spent the whole morning looking for him, all over Bag End and the surrounding fields. They finally found him under the window. Elanor grabbed his wrist and yanked him up as best she could.

His eyes flickered open, then widened.

"It's morning, Sam," he said urgently.

Pippin dragged him to his feet.

"The cuddling can't wait, Frodo!" Merry exclaimed. They dragged him up to Bag End to get him ready.

Neither Sev nor Frodo remembered the actual ceremony very well . . . save a few things. Sev didn't care for much of it, but Frodo's eyes popped when she emerged from the Gamgee house and made her way down the walk, on the arm of no one. Her skirt threatened to trail on the ground, but Rosie knew the art of sewing well enough to keep it just out of the way. He thought she looked miraculous.

Pippin nudged him. Frodo blinked, then turned back to Sev; she looked different in her dress, more like a woman. She smiled at him, although it was a courtesy smile that deepened into blissful sincerity when he extended his hand to her. She finally got the chance to look at him, not torn away by all the publicity around her. He wore his Gondor cloak, the one she loved so much. She'd never told him how much she liked it, but it was the best thing he owned: wearing it today was a given. She fingered his sleeve—the fabric was so soft, velvet-like.

Sev thought the vows were precious, and very accurate. She made a mental note to follow them all. Frodo was anxious to know that it was done, that everything had gone right this time.

At last he heard that he was allowed to kiss her . . . and that they now belonged to each other. He turned her towards him and slowly leaned down to her. He kissed her very gently, but before Sev even pulled away Frodo realized he hadn't felt that soft channeling in months, and that he needed it. He dragged her back to him, and she inhaled sharply when his lips deliberately trapped hers. Cheering erupted around them; Frodo couldn't have cared less. His fingers and toes and nose were all tingling, on fire. He swept her off the ground, still kissing her, and spun around.

When he set her down, both blushed furiously. He timidly pecked her lips again, as though covering up what he had just done. Sev turned and threw the bouquet rather randomly; Pippin caught it again, but stumbled backwards in the process. He nudged against Diamond again, and she held him up to keep from falling.

Sev cracked her knuckles: there was a pair in the making.

But not now.

Music started up almost immediately. Sev took a turn dancing with the hobbits she knew best; most had turned up for the food, and to congratulate Frodo. She knew the majority would avoid her, and she much preferred it that way.

She watched Frodo dance with some of the women present when she finished taking a turn with Sam, Pippin, and Merry each. She sat down in the shadows, admiring the way his cloak swirled around him, how the velvet tunic stretched and contracted around his arms and torso. He was very good at what he did, dancing so beautifully. His smile struck her again and again, how he laughed and grinned wholeheartedly without resentment or ache. She tasted tears on her lips a moment later—it melted her heart to see him so happy again.

Luckily, Rosie kicked Frodo and Sev out of the field before guests started to leave, for Sev might have stuck around and cleaned everything.

"Go home! Be married, be free!" she called out after them.

Sev laughed. "Are you going to be all right, Rosie?"

"I've got Sam." Rosie squeezed her husband's shoulders (he was completely unaware and talking to Fatty Bolger at the time) and reached down to kiss him. Sam jolted, then relaxed completely, pulling his wife into his lap. Rosie looked back up; her cheeks flushed. "Go on!"

Frodo grabbed Sev's hand and pulled her back up to Bag End. She nearly tripped on his cloak, but made it up the hill in one piece. For once she was glad she had adapted to not wearing shoes.

Sev did not express to Frodo that she didn't want to be stereotypically carried across the threshold, but Rosie had passed along to Sam (and thus to Frodo) that this was her preference. Frodo simply opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

"My lady Baggins," he said.

Sev planted a kiss on the top of his head and stepped inside. "Thank you, sir." She slipped off her cloak and hung it on a coat hook, then held out a hand back to him. He accepted, and she pulled him inside. She felt unusually gratified, and felt like expressing it back to him; that surprised him, just with the way she pulled him straight into Bag End and wrapped her arms around his waist.

She kissed his nose. Flutters rippled through him, and he laid his hands on her shoulders.

"You're mine forever now," she breathed disbelievingly, dotting kisses down the side of his face. She trailed them along his jaw, up to his cheek. Frodo leaned towards her, taken aback by this sudden expression. Warmth scattered over his face and rebounded all the way down to his feet. "And I am yours; we are never to be divided by anything ever again." She could hardly believe that she could say what she did. She braced one hand between his shoulder blades and cupped the back of his head with the other; even as she reached for him, he leaned down to her, and their lips met. She deepened it, and Frodo inhaled sharply. She gathered him close, feeling every little bit of the moment.

Could that kiss have lasted longer, Sev would have let it. But they both needed to breathe, and so she pulled her head and neck away.

Frodo stood still, completely fazed. His eyelids flickered.

"You know," Sev muttered, "there was one book we should have read yesterday that we didn't."

Frodo slowly—but faintly—kissed her forehead, then her nose and jaw. "Hmm?"

She cupped his face in her hands. "Your book. Red Book. The Lord of the Rings."

Frodo nodded, and then his eyes shot open. "Yes, we need to read it." The book sat by one of those huge lounge chairs, next to the fire. Chances were excellent Sev had been reading there, luckily enough. Either they would squeeze together or she would have to sit on his lap.

Somewhat excitedly, he led her over to the chair, but she took off towards his bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

Sev didn't even turn. "One does not simply read in a wedding dress."

Frodo looked her up and down. A wedding dress would do; he wanted to spend as much time as possible. Not that there wouldn't be many years of that in the future, but it was their wedding day, after all.

"One does not simply wait for Sev to get into something else," Frodo pointed out. He reached forward, unsure what he was doing, and caught Sev's shoulders with one arm. Before she could ask what was going on, his other arm caught her knees, and he brought her up off the ground. She squawked and grabbed his neck; so speedy was her movement that their cheeks met. When she settled, Frodo gave her a slightly concerned, slightly amused look.

"Are you all right?"

Sev nodded, then chuckled. "Yes." She pecked his cheek. "Do that whenever you like. You devil." She ruffled his hair as he sat her down perpendicular to him on his lap. She sidled up to him rather carefully, and the book ended up between the two of them.

Frodo had forgotten how much he enjoyed watching her read. But instead of berating the characters she turned to Frodo once in a while.

"Why would you do that?" Usually this pertained either to some act or mischief, or one time that he would kiss her cheek.

Frodo shrugged, his face turning slightly red. "You know me well. Perhaps you could tell me."

Sev furrowed her brow and chewed her lip and pointed to the first scenario: stealing Farmer Maggot's mushrooms. "That I can attribute to your status as a devil, Pippin's influence, and the fact that you have that streak of male mischief in you." She shoved her hand over his face, and he chuckled.

But then she paused.

"I don't know about the other, though. I've never quite been able to figure that out." She regretted bringing it up, for now Frodo would pressure her until she let all of her concerns free. In a way she appreciated that . . . but not when she felt like it might be secretly paining or irritating him.

She tried to move on, but Frodo didn't quite let that go.

"What do you mean?" He wrapped an arm around her waist, then lifted a tender hand to her cheek. He turned her face to look at him. "Do I not make it obvious?"

Sev hesitated. She didn't want to scare or force him away; he meant far too much to her.

"You do," she said. "More obvious than I ever could have imagined possible. I just hope I do enough for you to make it worth it to you."

Frodo gave her a perplexed stare. She looked confused, so he turned to the book.

He began flipping pages over Sev's lap. "Cirith Ungol. Shelob. The Ring. The marshes. Mordor." He pulled her closer with every word. "Sev, you do enough. You do more than enough. I love you for who you are, not just for your servitude." Then he hesitated. "Although what you do is helpful, my care for you does not hang in the balance of whether you live up to your expectations or not." He hoped he was using the right phrases, the ones he'd seen in her journal. "I just love you. And all I want is for you to accept that."

Sev couldn't say anything to that. She never thought she would hear that from anyone . . . and she realized then that all the love she'd felt had to be unconditional, or it didn't last. She sighed, satisfied to the extent that her fears ever would be, and leaned her forehead against his own. He was a little timid after what he had just told her. It sounded unrealistic and a little bit corny to him, but it was the truth—he couldn't have said it any other way.

But her response made him feel a little bit better.

She kissed him slowly, eased him up into her arms, and the book fell forgotten to the floor. He remained a little settled about it, allowed her gentle warmth to shield him from pressure. When she pulled away, the warmth slowed to a halt.

She held his head to her heart, basically lulling him into exhaustion when she told him what she thought of him. He couldn't quite internalize it all, but he remembered thinking it was the most amazing thing he'd ever heard. No one had ever said anything like that about him, not even Bilbo, not even his mother. Somehow he knew Sev truly loved him.

Once they were through with the book, though, Sev was impossibly restless. Frodo hoped she would stay the night, in fact anticipated it . . . although she twitched like she had lightning running through her spine.

But as she walked with him to the bedroom, he remembered what he'd told her that day, five months ago, and his heart sank. "Prowling shouldn't be an issue." He hoped to change her mind, but he was too tired and muddled.

Sev embraced him, then pressed gently on his shoulders until he sat down on the bed. He laid back hesitantly, very exhausted but not ready to let her go.

"Sev . . ."

She kissed his forehead. "I'll be back in the morning. Tonight is a beautiful night, you know." She wrapped her arms around him. "I love you. Sleep well, all right?" She wanted to see the moon casting light across the fields and rivers of the Shire, and she was afraid to stay. She'd never been in a home at night, not with Frodo especially—she simply feared it all.

She caressed his jaw with her fingers, then brushed a kiss against his cheek. It felt like parting, and that awakened him sufficiently. He didn't want to end like this, if anything. He turned, and her lips touched his. She sat down by his side suddenly, locked where she was. She didn't dare jump away; she lifted him into her arms. She broke it off long enough to trail kisses down his forehead and nose, then touched her lips to his again.

She squeezed him lightly. "You devil, you're distracting me. Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

As she left, Frodo watched her.

"Sev," he said.

She turned back, partially anticipating whatever he had to say.

"I love you too," he finished simply.

She grinned and laid her head against the door. "More in the morning." Then she paused. "Assuming everything gets done."

"After all," he said, remembering what she'd told him when they were discussing married life in general, "you are the mistress of Bag End. And would like it better organized."

Sev sighed. "There's nothing wrong with it. It's all right, I swear!" Frodo chuckled, and she blushed a little. "I just have the chance to do things with it."

"Good night, Seville Baggins," he said somewhat dismissively, turning over. He knew she was itching to prowl, even if he would have liked to keep her there until she didn't want to leave. Sev snickered behind him—much to the satisfaction of both. She paused until he began to breathe more deeply, but he wasn't quite asleep. She didn't know that.

Then she let her whisper carry through the darkness. "Good night, love."

His head shifted. She'd never called him that; he wondered at it. Tested it around in his head. He thought he liked it, in a sugary sort of way. It wasn't a very Sev thing to say, but it carried that essence of what she'd told him earlier, that long stream of words he wished he could remember.

As she stepped away, Frodo spoke after her. "You could call me that more often."

She turned a deeper purple the moment he spoke. "I will, then."

Sev slipped out of Bag End, pinching the candles as she left. She sprang out of the door with her white fluffy cloak from Rosie, feeling so free. She realized she was still in her wedding dress . . . and she had left Frodo in his Gondor cloak. But neither of them would care at least until morning. He looked good in that Gondor cloak; she snickered when she considered not telling him until he noticed.

She raced to the hill where he'd proposed to her. The branches were full of autumn leaves, unlike the blossomed fingers she'd seen that spring. She'd remember this tree always. She sidled up to it, imagining she sat beside Frodo. She watched the moon carefully, how it shed beautiful rays of pearl light over the ground. She stretched out her fingers, and the moonshine illuminated her bare skin.

Sev sat back, pondering what she ought to do in the morning. She wanted mornings to be different now that they were married. Kissing him awake; that would do.

She nestled into her fluffy white cloak, still restless. At least, with that factor of excitement in mind, she could track her affections as they moved forward, keep herself in check. She hadn't stayed with Frodo mostly for the bitter sorrow that she could not be a mother, and she was almost ashamed that he knew.


	53. The Way I Am - VERY Fluffy, No Plot

**This scene was based somewhat on Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am," specifically the line ". . . 'cause I love the way you say "good morning . . ." And this is something I want to do when I get to this stage in my life. ;)**

Frodo woke up insanely early that morning, anxious to go find Sev. She decided to go into Bag End at dawn, awaken him when she thought would be his optimal time to awaken, but he found her first. He slipped out of Bag End and might have spent the whole day looking for her if he didn't search the log and the tree first.

Most of Sev's time was taken in reorganizing Bag End. There were papers and books scattered everywhere, ink spills on every wooden surface imaginable. The mess was mostly an inheritance from Bilbo, as well as Frodo's lack of care for organization. He simply never had thought to do it, and didn't wish to now.

Every time he tried to kiss her she complied, but not for long enough. She would tell him he was distracting her and went right back to work. She sent him out with Sam periodically.

Sev stayed on the lawn again that second night, and went in very early to wake him up. She crept into Bag End, then snaked through his bedroom door. She rubbed her head against his Gondor cloak—hung up on the door where she knew she could touch it—and inched forward towards him.

He looked so peaceful. She smiled broadly despite herself. She laid her hand on his shoulder; he faced away from her, and she gently tried to turn him over. But he would not budge. Somehow he was more stubborn in sleep. She muttered to herself and slipped over to the other side of the bed. She noted that it was very wide; she could sleep on the edge occasionally if she really required something so comfortable.

Her eyes rolled. She sank into the mattress, nearly blacking out. But she shook it off. Task at hand, she reminded herself.

She slipped forward, not quite so much anticipating the kiss as his reaction; she hoped very much that he would like it. She lowered her head and tenderly touched her lips against his, careful to ease into it. She didn't know how he would take it.

Frodo felt the warmth coming, heard the creak of the door, but didn't awaken to it. It was in the back of his head, and he thought he was dreaming it up. But then her soft lips met his . . . and he jerked awake with a pleasured moan, enthusiastically kissing her back.

It frightened her, as she initially let a small level of emotion into it. She pulled away, but Frodo realized that it wasn't in his head. He grabbed her shoulders and dragged her back into an intent kiss.

Sev's head slacked against the pillow opposite him; only her torso was on the bed, though, so she twisted off the side. She blinked dizzily.

"Good morning, Frodo," she muttered.

Frodo smiled and yawned. "Good morning. Where did that come from? I usually have to hunt you for one of those."

Sev furrowed her brow jocosely. "I was going to do that yesterday, but you woke up too fast." She lowered her head down close to his. "And I intend to do that for as many mornings as is at all possible."

That got him excited. Sometimes he would wake himself up before she came in, for he noted that the moment she knew he was awake she would wish him a good day and turn to get something else done. She became quite the service in the Shire (courtesy of Rosie spreading the word), restless when she wasn't working or prowling . . . unless Frodo could catch her affectionate. He enjoyed that a great deal, but he didn't get too deep before she would run away.

Frodo learned over time that, if he feigned to rest, he could get her to keep the kiss long enough that he could trap her in place and kiss her more. That became his strategy, although she didn't recognize it; sometimes he was indeed too tired to wake up right away. One of those mornings of strategy was Tarrie's birthday, a morning that Sev had been preparing for. Rosie overemphasized Sev's ability to do just about anything, and Tarrie happened to be nearby on a day that Rosie boasted Sev a bit more than she intended. Tarrie had enjoyed the grandeur of Frodo and Sev's wedding, and asked Sev to manage her own. Sev insisted that she would need plenty of help from Rosie, and Tarrie was rather compliant, if not dismissive.

Sev stayed up all night with Rosie mapping everything out. Frodo waited for her to come in and kiss him, but she never did. He conceded simply to rest after a long while.

The next morning, Sev was stressed. She walked briskly back to Bag End, actually to grab some materials, until she remembered she had a husband at home. She turned from the main hall into his bedroom.

Frodo's fingers and feet tingled, anticipatory, at the sound of the door creaking open. It was a hasty opening, though, which he realized. He settled back. She wouldn't be satisfactory like this; he had to convince her that she could let her stress go for a minute.

Sev quickly touched her lips to his. He waited for her to deepen it in an attempt to awaken him faster, but she did no such thing. She just stood, impatient and ready to be away even if Frodo didn't awaken.

He hesitantly kissed her back, and she leaped away suddenly, throwing open the door. He sent her a perplexed, longing look as he propped himself up on his elbow.

Sev threw her hands in the air a tad exasperatedly. "Can't!" she insisted. "No time; Tarrie's birthday! The field has to be prepared, and the—,"

Frodo wasn't ready for a long list, not this early in the morning. He shook his head slowly while he sat up. Sev settled, shaking her head as well. She reminded herself that Frodo was her first priority, that she had promised him nothing in the Shire would take his place unless it was the worse for him not to care about it.

"No?"

He shook his head again, patting the bed. Sev sighed and sat down shakily. He wrapped his arm around her; she got stressed easily, but he didn't. Not really. Things would work out for the better in the end, he knew that much if nothing else.

"I guess I'm just worried a little," she said finally. "I'm sorry." Despite that statement she was still hurried. She pecked his lips, but he needed her here. He locked her in with his arms and kissed her solidly. Sev tried to scramble back, but it was only the reflex of stress. He might not have thought that, but she relaxed almost as suddenly. Her head fizzled, settling into a numbness. Frodo wrapped a subconscious hand around her knees, bringing her up onto his lap, then cupped her face with it.

He remained persistent but softened eventually, and then he released her very gently. Her eyelids flickered open and shut—she hadn't had warning to be anxious before he kissed her, and had enjoyed that thoroughly after her little jolt of realization.

"Remind me to do that every morning," she muttered, breathless.

Frodo grinned, a little disoriented but still acceptably functional. "Absolutely. You might have enjoyed that almost as much as I did."

Sev raised her eyebrows, not willing to show her concern for that. He kissed her again, and she wrapped her hands in his hair to hold him closer. She knew she shouldn't have; she didn't have time. She did it anyway.

 **These scenes are just for the benefit of those that like romance scenes . . . and Frodo romance scenes . . . :) Sit back and relax, I guess. Thanks for reading!**


	54. Therein Lies the Rub - Fluff Angst

**Anjion: :D That's a fantabulous word. I'm going to use that eventually.**

 **So this one just goes to show that no relationship is perfect . . . X) Not my favorite chapter, but it might be somebody's favorite . . .**

The blissful moments were not the only ones Sev remembered. They had plenty of irritation to rub off, although frustration bothered Sev enough that she kept her feelings there to a minimum. Occasionally he was in pain from his wounds, and those times didn't always coincide with when Sev needed blood, but they did what they could to compensate (she wasn't as careful with herself managing a home and having a consistent blood source, and resultantly received bruises and cuts and things more often).

One of those things that drove her nuts was a certain sort of day, one she felt coming. She didn't know what to do with the feeling, the apprehension that something was going to change a little. She went in to kiss Frodo once to wake him up, and he awakened overly jovial, spinning her around and kissing her rather openly. But the moment he was finished, he sprang out the door.

Sev was confused, but had a busy day all the way out to the South Farthing and couldn't ponder it. In truth, Pippin had approached Frodo about the fact that Sev was busy, and invited him to go around with him and Merry. Pippin was having troubles with his lass Diamond, and needed some time away. They enjoyed themselves immensely, although Frodo didn't remember why.

While he was out, Sev came home early from South Farthing . . . very early. She anticipated exciting Frodo when she came inside, but she couldn't find him. Eventually she gave up looking, and asked Rosie where they had gone. But he was not with Sam, hadn't mentioned anything about it to anyone.

Sev worried for a while, then curled up on the couch and let a glare harden on her face. She didn't like worrying about him, but she could do very little at this point. He was probably just fine.

But she didn't like not knowing.

She also didn't like feeling alone. She'd fallen from a stack of crates in South Farthing, and felt as helpless now as she did before she married Frodo. She pulled into herself as her bruises continued, for agonizing hours, to mend.

Finally Frodo stepped inside, some two hours after sunset. She didn't even perk up; she wasn't in as much pain anymore, but she was exhausted. She could hear Pippin outside, and Frodo laughed, replied to whatever he had said.

"Yes, we should." Pippin had asked if Frodo wanted to do this again; Frodo had missed that carelessness most hobbits had. He didn't have enough of it to be around it all the time, but Sev was rather solemn some days. Sarcastic, but solemn.

He turned and saw her on the couch. She lifted an eyebrow, then burrowed into the cushion, locked hard into her body.

"Sev? Are you all right?"

Sev exhaled slowly and let her gaze fall to the floor. Her voice came out somewhat of a mumble. "If you would just let me know when you do that . . ." She trailed off. "But as long as you're with Pippin I suppose it's no trouble. Just tell me first. Please."

Frodo's brow furrowed. "I will." He knelt in front of the couch, suddenly concerned. He brushed a finger over her ear; she had locked her face down into her arms. She didn't want to be upset with him—it didn't feel right, it made her feel sick. "Is something wrong?"

She didn't want to respond; it could come out a growl.

"I'm a little stressed, so bear with me," she warned, lifting her gaze to him.

Frodo nodded slowly.

She opened her mouth, then shook her head. "I was worried about you. And I don't like to be alone. I'm glad you're safe, but . . ." She buried her nose in her arm, scooted away into the couch. Frodo's brow creased and he leaned closer to her. "But it felt too much like life before we got married." She bit her lip. "I'm okay, I promise. I just need to think this through; I don't want to mess you up at all."

Frodo sat back, a little mystified. "You're upset with me, aren't you?"

Sev sighed. "I don't want to be. I don't enjoy being upset; it feels like I swallowed a thistle." She licked the roof of her mouth at the thought. "I'm just trying to figure out why it was so hard." She frowned. "Then I can think through my problem."

"Maybe it isn't just your problem," Frodo pointed out. "What if it would have been better if I'd told you?"

"But you didn't know! You probably didn't know I would be this bothered." She furrowed her brow. Something still rubbed on her. "I think I just have to adapt." Then her eyes lit up, but it was purely epiphanic, nothing excited about it. "Maybe it's just not a part of what I'm used to. I spend every minute of every day that I can with you." Then she glanced up at him. "I'll fix it, I promise."

Frodo leaned forward, but she wouldn't kiss him. He conceded to peck her forehead. "You're all right."

"But it isn't all right to make you stay here." She bit her lip as she realized there was more to the sorrow in her. She didn't want to tell him, but she had to. She forced it out of her mouth as she stood suddenly and walked towards the door.

"It's also a little hard, I guess, to know that I can't do everything to make you perfectly happy." She glanced up at him. "That—trying as hard as I can—it is not enough. I am not everything."

Frodo stood to follow her. "Isn't that how life is, though? That I can't offer you perfection either?"

Sev nodded, glancing at the ground. He sounded so wise for his age, and it caused her a great deal of second-guessing. "Yes . . . but that doesn't mean I like it. I can accept you for everything you are. You mean the world to me, and I've known that for so long that I can't let it go." She opened the door slightly. "The Shire, the people in it, don't know me well enough to do stuff like this, take me out for the day, and I have no desire to go out for the day. I work because I'm asked to, and for no other reason! I have to accept your paradigm; that's all." She bit her lip again, wondering if she ought to apologize or what she ought to do. But she felt more like she wanted an apology from somewhere else; not necessarily from him, but from whatever powers kept her from being the perfect woman for him.

"Good night," she managed, then flew out the door.

Frodo sprang to the black opening. "Sev!" He glanced outside, but she slipped underneath her log already. He slacked against the door. He wanted to go after her, but based on her mood perhaps that wasn't the best idea. He needed to talk it out, figure out how to solve this problem. But nothing he could think of might work.

He hesitantly backed away from the door. Hopefully she would come in the morning; if not he would sit down and try until he couldn't try anymore to tell her that it was all right, that he would always love her, that it was all right to be upset once in a while, even if he didn't understand what her frustration was founded on.

He wrote her a note and left it on his door before uneasily climbing into bed.

Sev found it the next morning as she walked inside. She drooped a little, certain he must be perplexed. She had made no sense the night before, leastwise in her mind. She thought it out, analyzed everything she felt, until she felt nothing. She plucked the note off the door and read it slowly.

 _My Sev,_

 _So perhaps I don't understand entirely what's troubling you, but I want to know. I want to help. You helped me so much before, and you do your best now. Remember, I don't love you on conditions. Tell me what you can, and I will do what I can._

 _I love you._

Sev bit her lip and held the note to her heart. That little piece of paper was the exact reason she wanted to be more than she was, exactly why she wished he might want her as much as she wanted him.

But she gathered it impossible. Willation had warned her, somewhere back there, that she was possessive, but only about one isolated thing at a time. Frodo had fit that for many years, and she knew he would never latch emotionally to her like that. But it was all right; it meant she could be alone if she wished.

Sev inhaled and exhaled slowly before opening the door. Frodo lay facing her, curled in her Lorien cloak. She snickered to herself—he looked irresistible like that. She knelt down by his side and brushed the dark curls from his face.

"Frodo, love." She smiled, then pecked the tip of his nose. Warmth sparked him into partial consciousness, but he did not move. He had to wait another moment or two before he could try anything; her presence excited him, and he had to restrain himself to keep from fidgeting.

She lowered her lips to his and touched them carefully, a couple of times. Frodo suddenly brought his arms around her shoulders and held her close, kissing her intently, very sweetly, as tenderly as he could. Sev melted nearly into a puddle on the floor. Frodo followed, kneeling down beside her. It was a moment flooded with realization on the part of both of them.

Sev gasped for air when she pulled away, partially from kissing him and partially because she was too relieved to speak. "I didn't know . . . I'm so sorry about yesterday . . ."

Frodo brushed her mouth with his thumb and trailed kisses along her jaw before coming back to her own lips. He pulled away and laid his forehead against hers, taking her in with his eyes closed. He didn't have to see.

"You came back."

She nodded, but did not move otherwise. "I figured it out."

Between kisses, she told him what she had found in thinking too hard all night, and they talked of many things. They had to part ways late in the morning, and the next day Frodo left with Pippin again, feeling cautious but better.

Sev cleaned Bag End restlessly. He had told her he would be gone that day, but she didn't have to like it. Frodo had told her to go ahead and feel what she needed to feel. She responded that she would until she could change her thoughts. She wanted to accept what he wanted to do as long as she didn't think it wrong.

She actually turned to berating herself for being worried . . . as well as for marrying him. That quickly escalated until she started old thought patterns, old habits she feared and knew to avoid. She grabbed the Red Book and started reading.

It distracted her well enough. She relished in the words she knew Frodo had written, the words she wanted to hear him say: telling his story, emptying his heart onto paper. She got to the Grey Havens in the story, and she remembered how painful that all was. And reading Frodo's perspective on it—how he would miss the Shire he had grown up in, but had no choice other than to leave or be in crushing pain.

She set the book aside, imagining it all so starkly. She grabbed her knees and buried her face in them. Pain flickered through her, and nothing she tried could stop it. At least it was more sympathy than pity and self-deprecation this time.

When Frodo came in, her tears had dried, but the blood in her eyes was still thick with fear and heavy sorrow. She spotted him, and after what she had read he looked more bright, more handsome, than ever before. He stared at her, suddenly worried.

But before he could even ask her what was wrong, she sprang up from the couch. His departure had become such a reality, she forgot he was still here. She grabbed him tightly and swallowed. She trembled in his arms.

"You stayed!" She reached back and began covering his face with kisses. Frodo stumbled suddenly, and her lips caught his. She hung on to him for dear life, then exhaled slowly and laid her head on his heart, feeling the precious thuds of proof that Frodo was still alive, still breathing, still here with her.

Frodo embraced her, dumbfounded. "Sev, are you all right?" he asked slowly.

Sev swallowed and nodded. "I'm fine." She pulled away and began carefully dotting his face with kisses again; she couldn't know his features were there unless she could feel them. "You stayed," she repeated wonderingly.

He nodded, kissing her back. "I did." Then he spotted the Red Book on the couch, left open, and understood what must have happened.

This was the typical ritual whenever Frodo left for the day, for whatever reason. He grew to enjoy it a great deal, once he got over the potential despair in Sev's visage. He didn't like seeing her stressed, but it was hard to keep her jovial: she thought on a ridiculously deep level, and acted the same way when she was in isolated company. But he was determined to do his best there.


	55. Seville Gamgee - Plot, Angst, Fluff

**Jayla Fire Gal: Thanks so much! :) I'm glad you like it! Speaking of stories, though . . . I can't say I'm the most avid reviewer or the most variable reader (after all, everything I write is a Frodomance O.o), but I saw the story you had posted, and I think you could finish a beautiful story if you wished to. I won't say it's your calling, because that's your call so to speak, but I'll be right there with you if you decide to write what you feel. :)**

 **WARNING: Character death in this chapter. XP Heavy angst (I think . . . I'm not a good measurer of angst but I love to torture my characters, if that makes any difference . . .) and lots of fluff. :)**

Sev would injure herself sometimes outside at night, and she subsequently wanted to be as near to Frodo as possible. So some nights she stayed at Bag End, although she never told Frodo. She always stood or sat in the front room, sometimes pacing, sometimes reading, and sometimes thinking while she stared at the flickering remains of a fire. Frodo was unaware to an extent; one night he found her at home.

It had been probably the most sorrowful day in the Shire for a long time; Sev noted a blood red dawn from the proposal hill and its tree that morning. Most folk said it was nothing, that a wind from the past few weeks had stirred up some dust in the distant Eastern farms—but she knew something was amiss. If nothing else, it was her romantic, bookish, tragic side speaking dramatically about an oddity.

She heard screaming in the valley below; it sounded like Rosie. She raced frantically down the hill and barreled straight for the Gamgees'. She had awakened Frodo early that morning, but he fell right back asleep. She couldn't ensure he stayed awake now.

When she entered the house, Rosie was no longer screaming, but letting out halted, huge breaths. She lay on the couch with hundreds of blankets covering her. Another woman stood nearby, shaking her head and holding back tears.

Sev crept up slowly to Rosie. "Rosie?" she whispered. Sam sat nearby. He looked like he had just recovered from blacking out, which Sev did not doubt. "Rosie, it's me." She gripped her friend's hand. Rosie slowly turned to her, eyes flickering open and shut. She did not verbally respond. "Rosie, what happened?"

Sam cleared his throat. Sev glanced up at him, her eyebrows narrowed with concern suddenly. Sam nodded to the woman nearby, apparently a midwife, who happened to be none other than Estella Bolger, one Sev had grown to know through helping her with her rather popular vegetable garden. But the typically hard-working girl Sev knew, bright and cheerful, looked somber. She held a small bundle in her arms that she handed slowly to Sev.

"Rosie said—," Estella bit her lip before plunging in. "Rosie said to name her Seville. Seville Gamgee." She swallowed as Sev slowly opened the little bundle. "For the most important woman in her life." Estella hiccupped back a sob when Sev pulled back one last flap of fabric: an undersized baby hobbit—a girl—lay tucked in the blankets. But Sev could already see that she was not breathing. Her face was blue from lack of breath, and her lungs looked limp.

"She was born too soon," Sam explained. His eyes welled with tears as he grabbed his wife's hand, and he squeezed his eyelids shut.

Sev reverently smoothed her finger over the baby's head . . . and the moment she touched her skin to the child, the blue of Seville's face began to fade, and her lungs began to struggle. Sev startled when a pair of Sam-like brown eyes opened and stared back at her. Sev's finger came away, and Seville settled in her hands again.

She looked up at Sam desperately. "Sam, I can heal her. If you give me time, I can bring her back—,"

Sam shook his head solidly. "Ms. Sev," he said, lifting his child from her hands, "I mean no disrespect." Sev tried to protest as Sam gingerly laid his daughter in a wooden coffin, a little bit too big; Sev assumed this had happened very unexpectedly. It was probably a wooden box from another usage. Once he sealed the lid he looked up at her. "We've tried everything, and Rosie and I don't want to be pushed in our hopes any longer." He swallowed, and his voice choked. "Thank you for coming. It means the world to us." He picked up the coffin and carried it away. Estella followed, sobbing.

Sev sank into a chair beside Rosie—mostly shock clambered through her. She held her friend's hand until it squeezed hers back. Sev jolted, then glanced down at Rosie. Her eyes were raw and red, and she looked exhausted.

"Sev," Rosie managed. Then she reached feebly for her. Sev lifted Rosie into her arms, rubbing her back. Rosie cried into her shoulder for who knew how long, but Sev didn't mind at all. She mostly felt guilty. She had done what she felt she could—maybe if she'd been more persistent, she could have healed the little Gamgee.

But she couldn't tell Rosie that, for the woman needed more time to mend. Sev held her closer, rubbing all over.

Soon, though, it all became too much for Sev. It was about three hours before Sam came back, covered in dirt from his knees down. He held his wife, and Sev took her leave. She knew Frodo could help; Sam trusted him more than almost anyone.

Frodo awakened rather late, and waited around for Sev. He remembered she had come in to wake him up, but then left when he didn't respond. He'd been hoping that was a dream, but apparently not. He ate breakfast, however she did not return. It was about midday when she barreled through the front door of Bag End, gasping for breath.

He stood abruptly and approached her. "Sev, what is it?"

Sev gestured outside. "It's Sam."

Frodo didn't even need to hear an explanation. He took off across the Shire, down to the Gamgee home. He heard sobbing and ducked inside.

Rosie had calmed down sufficiently, although she still looked a little teary. Sam now struggled to maintain composure, and the two sat in a huddled ball on the couch.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam looked up hopefully. He did what he could to comfort them, in fact put together dinner for little Elanor and their young Frodo later that evening. He guided Sam over to the table and encouraged him to eat, but with Rosie he didn't even try. He didn't know what had happened, but she looked so horribly distraught.

He sat down beside her and patted her shoulder. She stared up at him a little hopelessly.

"Sev was here," she muttered. "She saw her."

Frodo cocked his head.

"She came too soon!" Rosie cupped her jaw. "She was too small! And Sev knew . . . Sev knew she would be named after her." Rosie glanced up at Frodo. "She didn't cry the whole time, Frodo."

Frodo paused. "Who was too small?" He gathered a little one had been born and died, but he wanted Rosie to take it back a pace or two. Relax, if anything.

Rosie swallowed. Her trembling hands cupped a small space of air before her that she stared at wonderingly. "Seville. Seville Gamgee." She gulped again. "I got to hold her. She was blue. She couldn't breathe." Then she glanced up at Frodo. "Could Sev have healed her?"

Again, Frodo stilled, considering that for a moment.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Why didn't she?"

Rosie shook her head. "Sam doesn't know about Sev. I know. Sam couldn't have known." She sniffled. "But it's too late now. Seville is buried." She rubbed her eyes and forehead. "Sam won't have it, Frodo. He won't have it."

Frodo rubbed her back softly. "I'm sorry, Rosie." He glanced up at Sam, gloomy at the table. "I didn't realize."

Rosie bit her lip. "We'll be all right. I'll put Elanor and Frodo-lad to bed—," She tried to stand, but abruptly trembled. Frodo sat her back down, leaning her against the couch. He dabbed her forehead; she was sweating still.

"Stay here. I can help Sam get them to bed. You rest."

Rosie closed her eyes, and she laid down. "Thank you, Mr. Frodo. Thank you."

She fell asleep remarkably quickly. Frodo stepped away from her and did his best to assist Sam. The moment he had them all in bed, he turned to Sam.

"Sev could have healed your girl, Sam," he said gently.

Sam blinked at him uncertainly. "Mr. Frodo, we tried everything. Estella knew all the exercises to get her breathing again."

So Sev hadn't explained the process, then. Frodo continued. "Sam, did you ever wonder why Sev wasn't like most hobbits?" Sam didn't respond, so Frodo explained. "She has special abilities. She could have healed Seville. She healed me, remember?"

Sam shook his head. "I won't let it take me so easy, Mr. Frodo. What's done is done."

"Of all the confounded—," Frodo paused. Now was not the time: Sam refused to be pressured, and Rosie didn't even seem to want to push for it. He embraced his friend, glancing over his shoulder at the outdoors. It was dark; he needed to get back to Sev.

Sam yawned and slumped against Frodo. Frodo rubbed his shoulders—he laid him down on the floor beside Rosie. Sam thanked him groggily and went to sleep then. Frodo gently kissed his friend's forehead. "Oh, Sam."

Sev was in no mood to prowl. But she hadn't been entirely conscious of the world around her, lost in shock at the death in her arms, the life that might have been. She sat in front of the fire at Bag End, lost in horrified contemplation. The fire crackled, stinging and popping the logs beneath it. The wood would hold, but only for so long. Death battled life, burning, charring, and scarring, ripping relationships and potential into little strips that soon became ashes on the wind never to return.

She didn't realize Frodo hadn't come home; she thought he was in bed. She felt like waking him up. She felt so overwhelmed and afraid. She only had so many years before he would die and she would drain away. She shivered despite the heat before her—suddenly everything seemed so hopeless and hideous. Life without Frodo, however short it would be, frightened her into submission to the darkest and most painful of shadows.

Frodo left the Gamgee home and ran back to Bag End. He wanted to talk to Sev about it, but he realized as he stepped up to the door that she probably wouldn't be home. As far as he knew she had never stayed the night at Bag End. He stared out into the cold, unwelcoming blackness behind him as he slipped his hand around the chilly knob. Why would she leave a comfortable hole to spend the night outside?

He shrugged wistfully and turned the knob. Sev jolted and turned to see him walk inside.

Frodo regarded her tight stance and thick attire. She looked afraid, worried, hopeless.

"I thought you'd be out," he said gently, closing the door behind him.

Sev blinked. "I thought you were in bed." She decided not to tell him she had thought of going to find him. Instead she turned back to the fire.

Frodo had been expecting her to run to him. In fact, he had anticipated holding her, stroking her hair, feeling her softness and warmth about his entire being when he kissed her. But she did not move: she was frozen before the fire, staring at the floor.

"Did you find Sam?" she asked finally.

Frodo nodded and advanced toward her, as silent as he could be. She didn't want to turn to him for fear she would collapse into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. She could picture it in her mind. "I told him you would have helped, but he was fairly adamant."

She nodded, biting her lip. "He told me nothing could be done. I'm sure you did what you could."

Frodo watched her, studied her hands as they roamed her upper arms, as though a deep chill had settled over her skin. Her fingers tightened in some places as she tried to hold the broken pieces of her soul together. She wanted him to hold her, and she wanted to know that he was still there for her. But she didn't turn around: she was icy and uncertain, couldn't move.

Death had such an impact on her, he knew. And she must have felt guilty for doing nothing, or so he assumed regarding her insane need to ensure all in the world had to be good or she wasn't doing everything right. He shook his head; she needed to let it go. He stepped closer until only a distance of a few inches separated them. He paused, not sure what to say.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

She only turned her face to glance at him, and even so only an inch or thereabouts. Her eyes were still closed, and she finally shifted her gaze again to the floorboards.

"Yes," she managed. She sighed shakily and tensed her hands in place.

Frodo laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She immediately grew rigid under his touch. He shook his head; she needed to relax. Nothing could hurt her, not then, not at home. He put his other hand on her shoulder, but she did not slacken. He let his hands slide down her heavy, white sleeves, and he gently slipped his fingers over her waist, moving her arms out of the way for his own. She complied and leaned back into his embrace, finally breaking. He reached forward and brushed his cheek deliberately against hers. He pressed a kiss to her jaw sympathetically.

For a moment, feeling the white fabric of his shirt at her fingers and his vest collar through her thick hair and his soft lips against her skin, Sev felt safe. No pressure to be affectionate here; it was a simple embrace, and she loved the secure feeling of having Frodo nearby. But then she realized exactly what she would lose when she died. She bit her lip and shivered uncontrollably despite the comfort that surrounded her . . . and the significant lack of physical invasion. For that she was grateful, but that didn't cut through the shimmer of Seville's hazel eyes in her mind.

"Sev?" Frodo tightened his grip as she shivered. He turned her around, but did not let her go. His arms still surrounded her. Her forehead met his; she trembled. He waited for her to say something, but she didn't. His hands left her back, and he wrapped his fingers around the neck folds of her vest, holding her close. "You're shaking."

Sev shook her head slightly. Her whisper poked and prodded at his heart. "Frodo, I'm frightened."

Frodo's eyes slipped open, and he pulled away to survey her.

"I don't understand," he admitted.

Sev shook her head and thought to turn from him, but Frodo couldn't feel her pulling, and so didn't let go. She conceded to let her arms around his waist. "Seville Gamgee saved herself a great deal of pain by moving on. And Rosie and Sam will soon recover, for which I am happy." She shook her head again, harder and harder. "But I guess I'm reminded that—," She coughed slightly, choked back the dry itch of tears in her throat. "That someday I'm going to lose you too."

An epiphany illuminated in Frodo's mind, and he grabbed her fiercely. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing desperately. She almost wanted to save herself the pain later, die as soon as she could . . . but when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders she realized she would never leave him. Could never leave him, not if the decision was hers.

She didn't stop trembling despite what had been comforting. Frodo tried once more; he didn't know how to repair thoughts of the inevitable. "Sev, it's all right." They were still young—they had years ahead of them yet. "I have you, and we'll be all right."

"Not permanently," she muttered. "You'll die without me. I will not carry on beyond life as it is." She sighed shakily, rubbing her hands over his back. "How long do I really have you?"

Frodo shook his head. He pulled away to cup her face with his hands, and his thumb caught the tears swelling at her lowered eyelashes. "I'm not going to lose you, Sev. You'll die with me, I promise. If we can overcome the Ring, we can overcome this."

Sev buckled: they had escaped it all, scarred but alive. Warmth of the people that loved her—Frodo, Willation, Rosie—settled over her. Something, undoubtedly Willation's voice, whispered that she would be all right. She could die with Frodo, and would see him after their time on Middle Earth ended.

He didn't have to hear the same. She relaxed under his touch, and that was enough. She realized that he had hope in something she had despaired at; carrying the Ring had made him truly wise. How it would all work, she need not know.

"I'll always love you, Sev," he said quietly.

Sev nodded emphatically. "I love you too . . . and I'll never stop fighting for you."

She conceded that it was time for Frodo to rest, and for her to think. She sifted her fingers through his hair and tipped his head down so she could reach his forehead. Her kiss there lasted a sincere stretch of time, and warmth trickled from Frodo's head to his feet. He didn't understand why kissing had such an unnatural effect like that, but he didn't feel the need to ask. Not when he had something else to think about.

He kissed her nose. The impact of warmth was different here, as though he were stepping closer to a fire rather than watching it grow. It was a subtle difference, but it made him feel as though he could step even closer. He touched his lips to one of her eyelids. She blinked when he backed away, and she reached up to kiss him. It was a sweet one . . . small and gentle, reminiscent of how every day was an important one for them both, for they didn't know how many there would be. Frodo deepened it just barely, drawing her close to him. Her palms laid flat against his chest, and she drained the poison that collected there.

She finally settled him in bed and sat out on the lawn. Both of them were safe. She felt still a little shocked and afraid, but not to the point of despair. She stared up at the stars. She thought she could see Seville Gamgee's beautiful hazel eyes up there, and she waved.

"Rest well, Seville. And watch Rosie for me."


	56. Too Dark - MAJOR Angst, Plot, Fluff

**Anjion: Ja, Frodo's my favorite! X) If that was dramatic, well . . . second-to-last chapter should be terrifying, then.**

 **Jayla Fire Gal: Despite the fact that it's sad . . . I'm glad. Aw; thank you so much!  
Well, revision is never a bad thing, I don't think. :) You're welcome; I think you will do wonders. **

Sev mostly felt sick over the ordeal with the little Gamgee because she could never have, much less lose, one of her own. She remembered, every time the sun went down, that it was just her and Frodo. While that was a nice sentiment that she decided was for the best . . . she still wanted to hear the giggles and deep breathing of little hobbits, little hobbits that had Frodo's light in them.

Frodo never noticed. Usually her struggle was only at night, while he slept. When she kissed him every morning she remembered why life was worth going through, and forgot about it until she was alone again. But his question haunted her, about when she wanted to start a family. She knew he was more than ready. He asked her to stay home, tried to keep her late. A family would solidify her place in the home; she would not leave if more than just Frodo required her presence on a consistent basis.

Sev idly washed mugs at the Green Dragon one night, troubled unusually early about the whole thing. She stared at Frodo; he was laughing with Pippin and Fatty Bolger in one corner. Estella stood nearby, blushing while she tried to keep her gaze off of Merry, who stood out of the way. Sev wondered at Frodo's optimism. Then she rationalized with herself that she was the unnatural one.

Rosie nudged her. "Watching Frodo again." She tsked. "One would think you liked him."

Sev chuckled somewhat wistfully. "You read me too well, Miss Cotton." Then she paused. "I'm sorry . . . Mrs. Samwise Gamgee."

Rosie did her best not to turn red, rather bowed deeply. "That is my very nature. I read." Then her gaze softened. "Sev, I know you love him. And I know you enjoy coming over to play with Elanor."

Sev didn't like where this was going.

"When will there be a little one in Bag End?" Then Rosie held up a hand. "Assuming you don't mind me asking . . ."

Sev sighed, a little exasperated with the answer she'd been repeating to herself every day since she and Frodo had gotten married almost a year before. Frodo stiffened when he heard her speak.

"I can't have children, Rosie."

Rosie was kind and did not pursue the matter. She assumed that was a matter of attempt, that Sev did not know to what end but that she and Frodo could not have a family. Sev did not clarify. It frightened her to be as twisted as she was. She left the Green Dragon early that night, and Frodo followed.

He slipped the door shut behind them, trying not to act as frantic and surprised as he felt. She turned to him, ready to wish him a good night, but he grabbed her shoulders and sat her down on the couch first. She blinked at him, confused.

"Sev," he started, but he didn't know where to carry on from there. He paused and sat down beside her before continuing. His eyebrows drew together, bent into a perplexed expression. "What do you mean, you can't have children?"

Sev shook her head. She didn't like this topic anymore, but she kept with it. He was obviously confused, which only perplexed her. "Didn't you say you read my journal?"

He nodded. "But there wasn't anything in there about . . . about _this_." His voice softened. "And you told me you wanted fourteen. You sounded rather—," Then he stopped. She'd sounded pained, wishful. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you read my journal," she persisted. She stood and walked over to the desk, slipping it off of the wood. She sat down beside him again and flipped to the very back, a few pages before the last one Frodo had read. She turned it and showed him.

"Your blood is too dark?" he muttered. "I never read this part." He slipped it into his fingers and flipped through the pages. Sev bit her lip, clenched her eyes shut. She'd never seen his reaction to any of this, and didn't want to now. She groaned when she realized exactly what he'd read.

Frodo shook his head and set it aside.

"Sev, I'm sorry."

She threw it off and casually nestled against his side. Frodo frowned, a little confused, and wrapped his arm around her. He wanted to continue, but she threw it off again. "I'm all right," she said, a little distracted. "I can't have children, and that's that. And now the whole confusion thing has been cleared up." She paused. He hadn't entirely let it go yet, she could see it in his gaze. So she cupped his cheek and leaned up. Frodo tried to get her to back off; he needed to focus. But her lips touched his forehead, sparking tingles in his skin. He couldn't move. She kissed his cheek, feeling the relieving triumph that she didn't have to confess her troubles to him. But then that settled into a gentle affection, and she softly kissed his lips. He kissed her back just barely in time for her to pull away.

"You're all the family I have or need," she said, glancing away. "I'm all right, I promise."

They sat there for some time. Frodo didn't dare try to describe his stupor to himself, much less to her. Something was still wrong in the tense way she crouched under his arm. But he thought he started to understand as he pondered it.

Sev sighed. "It's getting late." Then she glanced out the window. She didn't want to leave; she felt too awful to be alone. She wanted to be with Frodo . . . but she couldn't. Not after a discussion like that.

But as she walked him to his bedroom, they both were so wistful she couldn't help it.

"Frodo?" she said timidly as he sat on his bed.

He cocked his head at her. His heart thudded; he hoped she didn't want to leave. Perhaps tonight would be the first. He would feel much safer not letting her roam around.

"Could I sleep on the floor? Just for tonight?"

Frodo smiled gently. "It's your room to do with what you will. You can have the bed if you wish."

She shook her head emphatically and slipped onto the floor rug, at the foot of the bed. "I'm all right here." She buried herself in the soft fabric, thick like a horse's winter coat. She rolled around, ecstatic on it.

Frodo leaned over the foot of the bed and kissed her cheek long and deep. She moaned and leaned up towards him. He blinked when he broke away; that was very, very unusual.

"Good night," she muttered. She put on false enthusiasm in an attempt to get him to sleep. He sounded uneasy—if not a little taken aback—when he responded and wished her a good night as well.

Frodo fell asleep quickly, actually feeling better than most nights. It was a step in the right direction. But even as Sev attempted to relax, sleeping on the floor just within and without of Frodo's reach like she wanted to be, she couldn't shake her guilt. She realized what this meant: Frodo hadn't known she couldn't have children. Her fingers tightened in a fist, her nails digging into her flesh as her thoughts carried on. He hadn't meant to be cut off. She had disgraced him and the Baggins name, on top of cutting him off from opportunity in parenthood and society as a whole with her reputation as a "demon." He couldn't even have the affection he wanted now. Pain slipped into her, a sense of hopelessness. She didn't understand why Frodo liked her at all, why he had accepted her. She wanted Frodo to come and hold her; she felt so alone.

But she left him asleep. It would be better for him to sleep. She'd kept him up long enough.

When she choked back a sob, he startled awake. She thought he was just tossing and wished she could feel him, have the comfort of somebody who actually loved her.

Frodo slipped off the bed to see if she was all right—she looked like she was shivering down there. He leaned forward and gently brushed her cheek with his finger. He jolted back; his skin came back soaked in tears.

Sev sat upright. She had thought the touch was her imagination until he took it away. She tried to throw it off, but he already knew. He reached forward and grabbed her hand. She thought she could protest, thought she did protest, but it didn't come out. She didn't struggle at all. The only word that came out was supposed to be a sentence, the assurance that she was fine. It escaped in a whimper, one that chilled the air.

"Frodo . . ."

He led her into the living room, to the couch, and allowed her to sit down. She melted against his side when he sat down. Tears flowed silently down her face as he rubbed her shoulder; he tried to be as reassuring as possible. She still said nothing. She bit her lip and moved little else until she laid a hand over his chest. She stretched her hand there slowly as his heartbeat echoed through her fingertips. She burrowed the side of her head into his shoulder—the pain would have been impossible to face alone.

Frodo didn't know what to say at first, but he finally decided on something.

"We can try, if nothing else." Sev stiffened, but he didn't catch on. "Something might have changed. You weren't supposed to survive, and I wasn't perhaps meant to stay in the Shire. Look where we are."

Sev nodded unconvincingly. "All right."

Frodo cupped her face. "Not if it would kill you. You have nothing to fear now. I will care for you."

She shook her head. "We would try eventually."

He embraced her. "Is this why you have been leaving Bag End?"

"Yes." She didn't care to hide it, nuzzling his sleeve to keep sane. "It hurts."

"But I still love you."

Sev abruptly reached back and thumbed the curls from his forehead, letting her fingers slip down the dark strands. Her gaze softened as she spoke, following her fingers down his shoulder to entwine with his own hand.

"That's why I'm going to try. I'm going to try because I love you that much; I know you want it, and you have some sort of hope that I can't understand . . . some conviction to do something for me that I would never have the strength to."

Frodo had no more words. On top of exhaustion, he felt they needed something more than a tug-of-war between despair and hope. He kissed her forehead softly, and his lips hung just above her face as they moved to her cheek and settled there. He embraced her carefully; it would be easy to frighten her off. Tonight she would not be mentally or emotionally ready to try.

Frodo brushed his lips against hers. Pain channeled through her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close to her. He needed sleep, she knew, but she was reluctant to leave him. He wasn't ready to let go. Their lips were an inch apart—Frodo ready to kiss her again—when she spoke.

"Thank you, Frodo. I could never ask for a more wonderful friend."

His hand raced up her back to cup her neck as he sealed the gap between them. She grew rigid at the sudden movement, then relaxed. His fingers traced her jaw. He did not release for some time, but when he finally did she grew somewhat compliant, allowing him to hold her as he fell asleep. She rubbed the top of his head, grateful that he would give her a chance to try for a family someday . . . but not now.

For some time she began to be hopeful, just a little bit brighter despite the blackness in her eyes. Of course, that faded after months came and went with no results. Sev waited for what Rosie termed "morning sickness," but she woke every morning as physically capable as the day before. Her stomach never grew. Frodo had somewhat of a difficult time keeping her from sinking into despair as they kept trying. His affection blocked her fear, and he convinced her that it would not be such a bad thing if it was just the two of them.

But it didn't stop her from wishing once in a while.


	57. Double Trouble - MAJOR Fluff, lil' angst

**Jayla Fire Gal: Yes, I suppose she does. *nervous laugh* You might want to throw pillows or knives at my face in a couple of chapters . . . but that said, I think it'll all work out okay. :D**

 **This is Pippin and Merry's road to love and how Frodo and Sev are involved. The inclusion of Merry and Pippin is dedicated to Anjion; I hope they're crazy enough. :D In the future I might make revisions of this chapter that include more insight into them and their individual actions, but it was a lot of material to cover. :)**

Frodo was determined to distract her from her pain, as he had tried everything else from sympathy to encouragement to blind hope without much success. Being affectionate—which he rather enjoyed—was the best remedy, but not always one he had time for. And Sev would only have so much lack of energy for kissing. He couldn't find anything until he spotted Sev eyeing Pippin as he discussed Diamond of Long Cleeve with Merry.

Both of those mischief makers had been courting for some months, but neither made the step to propose.

Frodo licked his lower lip thoughtfully as he surveyed Sev from the corner of his eye. He turned to Sam, who was still relating Elanor's rather comical experiences throughout the day. He felt a little bad for not listening, but he caught the last few minutes. Comical indeed; the girl had some spirit to her. No doubt Rosie had been the same way as a child.

"Sam," Frodo said finally, "I'll be right back." He settled his mug on the table before him, completely untouched, and turned to Sev. She grew anticipatory as he approached. Rosie nudged her; Sev did her best to ignore them both.

Frodo nodded to Sev. "Mrs. Baggins. Well met." He picked up her hand and kissed it lightly.

Sev might have responded if Rosie had not stepped in then. "Rather modest of you, Mr. Baggins. I'd think you would put a little more into kissing your wife." She received a gawk from Sev, as well as a furious blush, but Frodo stepped forward. Rosie frowned at him. "And by that, I mean you cannot take her from my counter until you've given her a proper kiss."

Frodo leaned forward—tingles already flew through his fingers and lips, although he knew this would be nothing huge—and kissed Sev very carefully. Rosie inhaled to speak, but Frodo already had it covered—he cupped Sev's shoulders and pressed his lips deeper against hers, and she sighed slightly, shifting in his hands. Sev's eyes flickered as he backed off; his tender touch, although not insanely intense, took her breath away. He turned to Rosie.

"Satisfaction, Mrs. Gamgee?"

Rosie clapped her hands. "Indeed, Mr. Frodo." She waved. "Carry on." She stepped away with her mug and gestured for the two to enter the back room. "Just don't get into any trouble back there; that ale won't take any more wrestling."

Sev looked completely solemn, but Frodo could tell she was joking. "We didn't mean it, Rosie, I promise. Our affection shall not become that violent."

Rosie snorted. "I was not referring to affection. Most that go back there drink until they don't know there's a world outside of ale, and then they fight. So don't do that."

"I shall refrain from getting drunk and punching my husband," Sev said with a disdainful nod. She led Frodo into the back room while Rosie broke out laughing. Frodo had to contain a laugh himself; he couldn't imagine Sev drinking ale, much less punching anyone. He seemed the most likely candidate, simply since they were so familiar with each other, but she wouldn't put her back into it.

Sev slipped up against the barrels of ale, rather practical in her stance. But Frodo felt a little more sentimental, possibly on account of the topic he planned to present her with. She faced him, business-like as she could be.

"What did you want to say?" she said.

Frodo slipped his arms around her waist very slowly. Sev's eyes fluttered uncertainly as he pressed his lips against hers, then pulled her to him. "Just that you're beautiful, Sev."

Sev's face burned. She knew he meant it; she almost didn't want to believe him, but apparently he meant what he said. "Thank you." She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he breathed her in slowly, letting his hands softly roam her back. She waited a long, gentle moment before pulling away. But she could only do so much; Frodo held her still, and didn't loosen his grip. She braced herself with her hands on his arms as she studied his face. "You're not so resistable yourself," she retorted, kissing his cheek.

She waited a little while as he stood, simply taking her in. She grew a little concerned about Rosie, but didn't dare push Frodo away. It captivated her in a frightening sort of way, the way he looked at her. She knew she had nothing to fear . . . but she couldn't help feeling apprehensive at actually being visible (something she wished had never come into conscious mind).

"Was there something else?" she asked finally.

Frodo snapped out of it and nodded. He sat against one of the barrels, then slipped her onto his lap. "Yes. I have a proposition for a conspiracy, if you would like to involve yourself." He paused and lowered his voice. "It shall be quite the matchmaking endeavor."

Suddenly Sev was all ears; she lowered closer to him.

Frodo chuckled, and his lips touched her ear. "You've noticed Pippin and Merry, haven't you?"

Sev gasped. "Yes, I have! Curses, they ought to step forward. You're right. I'm in." She extended her hand and vigorously shook Frodo's. He chuckled.

"But first we need a bit of a plan, then," he pointed out.

She nodded. "Festivals. Dances." She gasped suddenly, grabbing Frodo's shoulders. "We've got to get them kissing!"

Frodo stifled a laugh. "Have they not done that themselves? I'm sure, knowing Pippin and Merry, they wouldn't be too slow in moving forward, especially if they truly love their lasses." Then he paused. "Who are the women in question?"

"Estella Bolger and Diamond of Long Cleeve," Sev said. "You would think . . . but I'm sure I heard them talking the other day about how little kissing seemed to matter to them because they had done it so much." She frowned. "So we can't do anything with the physical, save get more honesty into it, but that'll be up to them. But you're right: I think I enjoy this conspiracy thing. Although it sounds rather subtle and background to me . . . not that we could do more."

Frodo shrugged. "It might turn out that way. But Pippin isn't going to hold out much longer; he must marry Diamond."

"You're right," Sev laughed. Then she pecked Frodo's lips. "A genius idea." She surveyed him, and her voice softened initially. "I like you." Then she cupped his jaw in her hands and kissed him slowly; Frodo began swaying slightly and allowed his fingers to trace up to her shoulders.

She eased away after a minute or two.

Then the plotting began.

Pippin and Merry weren't always the most predictable of people . . . but Sev felt like a few particular scenarios would work. Dances were raised—mostly in the front lawn of Bag End. Sev managed to get Sam in situation where he ensured both members of whichever couple in question were talking to him, and then he left them alone. He didn't quite understand what was going on, but did it repeatedly as Frodo and Sev asked him to. This was most often the case on nights when Merry seemed to be avoiding Estella, or vice versa, or if Pippin wasn't aware of Diamond's presence.

Merry was rather fast with Estella, in part because she took Sev aside with a question, and Sev suggested that she be more open. Estella was a resolute and talented woman, but also affectionately shy. Once she became more open, Merry didn't hesitate to ask her to marry him.

Pippin was a little harder. Diamond was as flirtatious as he, but a little more pragmatic and emotionally independent. Sev came home from dances exhausted; the woman was indeed very stubborn, and refused to move until Pippin did. And when Frodo talked to him, Pippin wouldn't say anything about his concerns.

Frodo finally got it out of him, though. He found out—mostly by deduction—that Pippin wanted more sentiment and he was unsure about if Diamond was the right one for him. Sev watched him from then on in, and noticed that she looked a little afraid to be sentimental.

She decided they needed to work that out. Intervention would create a breach between the two of them.

Evidently something worked out. Frodo came to Sev a few months after they started, up at the Green Dragon. They went behind the ale barrels, only to find Pippin and Diamond locked in a tender kiss.

Sev had been about to enter first, and she put a hand to Frodo's chest, backing them both out. She bit her lip while he glanced inside; he turned quickly and followed her back to the main tavern.

But they didn't stay there long. Sev grabbed him and raced back up to Bag End, shutting the door behind them. She backed against the knob with her eyes wide.

"Frodo. A double wedding." She approached him. "The party field isn't big enough, is it?"

Frodo shrugged, pulling her into his arms. "You and Rosie will have to make it work. Otherwise they'll just elope and that'll be the last we see of their family until their grandchildren come back to find their lost heritage."

Sev stifled a laugh. "Most assuredly." She tried to worm away, but wasn't obvious enough with it and soon gave up. She entwined her fingers with his to bring them from around her back and pulled him over to his desk. He stood behind her, not releasing her hand, as she slipped a few loose pages from the side of the main surface. She quickly fingered a quill pen out from a nearby drawer and unscrewed one of the small ink pots. She initially pulled at her hand, but Frodo was too busy watching to notice. She began jotting down ideas. The page skittered around at the pressure of her writing; she blotted constantly. Finally a streak ran down the side of the paper, thick with ink ready to spill onto the wood.

"Of all the curses and misfortunes!" Sev exclaimed. She turned the paper suddenly, and the ink ran down the other direction on the page until the drop was too far distributed to do any harm to the desk. She blew on it frantically and set it aside. "Frodo, I need my other hand back." She glanced up at him. "Please?"

Frodo shrugged. "I don't think you need it. Here." He slipped another piece of paper over the desk and braced it in the upper corner like he'd seen her do. "Use mine."

She hesitantly began writing again. Once she finished to let it dry, Frodo pulled it aside and bent down close to her. He laid his head on her shoulder, taking her in for a second. She moved to grab another piece of paper, if nothing else just to make an excuse why she didn't lean towards him. Frodo lifted his hand up with hers and slipped his fingers over her skin.

Their cheeks touched. Sev stiffened slightly, and her heart thudded, but he wasn't doing much. Her hand released the quill; the abandoned utensil slipped to the end notch in the base of the desk. Frodo brought her limp fingers up and unfolded them to reveal her scar—it had never healed, and Frodo never really expected it to.

He lowered his face close to the black mark, remembering the dark shadow over the room that day, the licking flames spreading from her palms. That feeling came back to him, helpless and uncertain pity for what had happened. He might have thought it his fault—but she wasn't angry at it. Or so it seemed.

Did it hurt?

Sev inhaled slowly when his soft lips tenderly touched her scar. The skin was still hot; he imagined it still hurt. Sev never really noticed the pain, not until Frodo kissed it and it began to fluctuate in temperature. She squeezed her eyes shut when the circle began to pulse again . . . as did the one at her neck.

Frodo felt the transitions. One moment her skin throbbed with extreme heat, the next it chilled his mouth. He pulled back just barely to look at her. She tensed and relaxed with the changes.

He didn't know what more he could do. He did what he knew he couldn't have done that day, when she was in pain the first time: he repeatedly brushed his lips against her scar, and the more he did the cooler her skin stayed. Sev gasped, straggling backwards as the blackness attempted to heal itself. Frodo started to pull away, but Sev reached for him. Her eyes opened wide and she cupped his cheek.

"No. It feels better." She bit her lip. Maybe he didn't want to keep going.

But he did, and she settled. Finally, when he expressed himself sufficently, he kissed the scar once again for good measure.

He paused, surveying her fluttering expression, as though she couldn't decide what she thought. She settled back in her chair and hesitantly picked up her paper.

"Is that better?" he asked carefully.

She nodded, slow and hesitant in everything she did. Finally she turned to him and touched her lips to his as meaningfully as her shock could manage. She ran her fingers through his hair, down to his shirt collar, before she released him.

"It is. Thank you."

Frodo grew limp. Sev stood and stepped away from him to take the paper to Rosie. She hesitated, wondering if she had done something wrong. But if she had, she wouldn't get it out of him for a while. She nuzzled his hair tenderly and squeezed his hand before walking away.

Frodo felt rather stunned if nothing else. He'd been expressive plenty in the year and a half they'd been married now . . . but somehow nothing hit him quite like that. Part of it was that Sev had always been a puzzle, and instead of finding answers he always found more questions. Perhaps she would never be solved.

She thanked him again for it later. The skin ached and burned now, but at least she knew there was something better than the normal once in a while.

Following that, she raced through the plans for both weddings with Rosie . . . and then realized Pippin had not yet asked Diamond to marry him. She had to hold off after that, but finally Diamond approached her with plans of her own. Apparently Pippin hadn't made his proposal too vocal, and Sev wondered at that.

Truth be told, Pippin had been dwelling on affection in the back of his mind since they'd come home from Gondor. He watched the sincerity between Frodo and Sev, studied it as it spread from newlywed attraction to deep, embedded love. There was no change in behavior, but there was a change in their eyes. It was subtle at first, and likely would take years to age.

But it was something so sweet that he wanted it. He managed to keep a jovial outlook, in fact keep that as his general thought process most of the time. He knew he wanted something more, though.

It took a while to break into Diamond. She took him for a shallow flirt at first, just another boyfriend. But when she realized that sort of personality could be more (not necessarily much, just more) than the words he said and the pranks he pulled, they really started to feel something more with each other.

That was what Sev wanted for them, even if she never knew it happened.


	58. Stories and Nightmares - FLUFFY

**Jayna Fire Gal: :D Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked! X) Remind me that I owe you hugs and chocolate and favors.**

 **This chapter is very sappy and mildly, lightly angsty towards the end; the angst at the end was actually a dream I had. Or, at least, part of it: it was in black and white, and the events occurred from my point of view.**

 **Hope you enjoy! :) Sappiness . . . O.o**

Once in a while Frodo would come home from being wherever he wished or needed to be only to find Sev, giggling, cackling, and squirming on the couch with her eyes glued to the page of a book. He peeked over her shoulder periodically, and saw—of course—romance scenes. He learned eventually that she had written them herself. When she had written them he did not know, but when he caught a glance at them he realized they were . . . he had no word to describe it. The best way to put it was that the situations were rare: dancing, isolated, in the snow or rain, or under the stars. Wistful poetry thought up when the boy or girl in question sat alone on the top of a mountain. Sitting under a blossom tree.

He quickly learned that to get her into any of those situations he could got her unusually open to affection. She never said it outright to him, but those were the situations she enjoyed the most.

One night he was restless. Sev had kissed him and sent him to bed, exhausted from helping Rosie with Elanor and the young Frodo that day. He didn't want to let it off like that, but he did for he knew she didn't have the energy to go farther . . . much less to notice that he tossed still when she walked out the front door.

He finally decided he had to go find her. He expected she would be sleeping and hesitantly decided to curl up nearby until she awakened, but he found her sitting, wide-eyed, just outside the front door. Stars glittered in her eyes—they enchanted her. The moon had set earlier, a mere crescent relative to its greatest phase, and she could see the multitude of stars, as abundant as sand in the black sky.

"Aren't they lovely?" she sighed.

Frodo thought she looked distracted enough not to notice him come outside, but she heard him come out. She had been thinking that having him there could be the only thing to make that moment ideal. He slipped onto the stone step beside her and laid an arm around her shoulders. He squeezed lightly; she felt so fragile.

"They are." He wasn't watching the stars, though. Her eyes scanned them delightedly, and he smiled wistfully when he realized that she wasn't often this excited. It was only the little things that could stir her so much, especially if he did them.

She slacked against his side. "I like you—did you know that?"

He shrugged. "You mention that sometimes."

Sev snickered. "Good." She glanced up at him. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Not really," he admitted. His gaze turned fleetingly to the stars, then came back to her. "I felt like dancing, suddenly."

Sev's eyes snapped wide open. She didn't speak for a moment; she'd been hoping he would say something like that, but didn't anticipate it this late at night. She looked at him very slowly.

"You're sure?" she asked.

Frodo nodded. "Did you not wish to?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No! I mean, I did. That is . . ." She sighed. "I was hoping you would say something."

He held out his hand. "Come, then."

Sev accepted, and he brought her to her feet. The front lawn sloped downard off the hill, but they danced easily. As he spun her around, Frodo could not but stare. The darkness highlighted her arms and face; she was wearing a dark dress, as usual, and that set it off, coupled with the blackness around her.

Sev did not tire, but soon she slowed. Frodo paused as well; he thought he was energetic, but she took it to a whole new level that night. He was more than happy to slow down. She stepped close to him and wrapped her arms around his back. She didn't say a word. He could feel the peace of the moment settling on the grass and in the air all around them as he embraced her back. They swayed lightly, close together.

Finally Sev reached back and cupped his cheek with one hand. She kept the other braced around his back for only a moment or two while she processed the feeling of Frodo in her hands. She inhaled slowly, allowing her eyes to sink closed. Frodo followed her movement and watched with piqued curiosity. His own hands sank from her shoulders to her waist. One arm wrapped there while the other hand rose again to the back of her neck.

"There's an eternity of stars up in that sky," Sev murmured, leaning towards him. Her lips neared his own, and one of her hands lowered to his chest. His heart started to beat faster. "All of them bright, all of them beautiful . . . but they have nothing to hold them, nothing to understand just how precious they are." Her nose touched his. He closed his eyes, straining to wait for the kiss just around the corner. "You're more to me than any celestial wonder, however magnificent any one of them may be."

He might have cut off her words, but he didn't know, and frankly he didn't mind. He leaned forward and pressed his lips deeply against hers. It wasn't deep enough to shock either of them, and so both stayed right where they were.

It was like that in the rain and snow as well; she loved both, and while the form of affection changed from time to time it carried the same special sort of gentility that no other moments could hold. Sev loved those times almost as much as he did.

One night he waited for her, again, to come inside. But it grew late, and she didn't appear. He was exhausted, but his conviction overcame that. He wandered outside, almost stumbling about.

Sev didn't realize how late it was. She laid on the lawn, had been there since dinner, watching the stars appear. She really did love them, but this time the moon was out: that changed the entire paradigm of the night. She'd been inside all night for the past little while, and now enjoyed the crisp, dark air . . . quiet now that all the hobbits were in bed. Most of them, at least.

Frodo stepped carefully onto the grass so as not to disturb her, but she heard him. She was fairly sure it was him, but didn't make any assumptions. She had lost her sense of direction in all of her tossing to look at the stars, and couldn't tell if the feet coming had started in the direction of the gate.

When he spoke, she bit her tongue to keep herself on the ground. He laid down on the grass, his head near hers. With the two of them they made one long line across the grass.

"It's late," he said gently. "Are you coming inside?"

Sev jolted, staring up at the sky. The sun had gone down quite some time ago, she realized. She paused.

"Perhaps. I didn't mean to keep my Frodo waiting." Then she snickered. "It's nice of him to wait, though. Sev likes the stars, and likes kissing him before he goes to sleep."

Frodo lifted an eyebrow, turning back to look at her. "And before he wakes up, or so I gather."

Sev gawked and rolled around to face him, now parallel to him on the ground. "You devil! Spying on a girl and her husband like that; you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"You're no better," Frodo countered. "You can't feel any less guilty for knowing all of her feelings . . . and telling her husband exactly what they are. Dare I say your crime carries more weight?"

Sev's eyes widened. "Oh, it does." She bit her lip and sidled nearer to him. "But I haven't said all of her feelings."

His eyebrow raised again. She barely contained herself. But there was a sufficiently large gap between them; she could still speak. She couldn't believe she had an opportunity so close.

"I have many secrets of her thoughts, her dark crush," Sev whispered loudly, peering over his shoulder at the house. She beckoned with a hand, and he slid across the grass closer to her. "She likes him a lot, possibly loves him," Sev continued. "They say that's why she married him."

"Is he really so bad? That she would have to love him to marry him?"

"Of course!" Sev said. "Why else would a woman make such an investment? You know, I hear tell he's a devil, just like you. How interesting is that?" She slid closer, closing the gap slightly. She chuckled lightly, as did he, for a long moment. It had been bubbling with a slight energy and could now escape.

But Frodo grew tender and focused after a moment. She followed, as often happened, and waited for him to explain his sudden drop. He propped himself up on his elbow, studying her face. He knew every inch of it now, had it memorized under his gaze, under his fingers, his lips. And he could feel her touch without her presence.

"So I'm a devil, just like him," he said slowly. He reached forward, almost as though not believing Sev was more than ephemeral. His fingers traced her face, and she rose up on her own elbow to meet his touch. He fingered the border of her jaw, caressed her cheek with his thumb. He leaned down close to her. "And you are a great deal like her. So I will tell you . . ." Frodo kissed her forehead very carefully. "That I think . . ." He kissed her cheek, followed by the other. "Frodo likes her as well." His lips lowered very close to hers; her eyes flickered open and shut. "And I know he loves her—more than anything."

He would have kissed her then, but she shied away. "Aw," she managed as he reached forward, gently dotting kisses over her face. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." Frodo pulled away again, watching her carefully. She reached up and stroked his jaw. "A good thing she loves him too . . . more than anything."

Frodo sat up suddenly and swept her off the ground. She crumpled in his arms as he kissed her soundly. She locked in place; she didn't have to move. Frodo held her for a long moment, letting the weight of everything he wished he could say sink through a single kiss. Her eyes rolled back.

He pulled away, then readied himself to kiss her again. But she sat upright before he could.

"You are my home, you devil. I promise, I'll die with you. We'll make it, you'll see." she said, jolting with energy. Frodo knew he would have to let her go . . . and sure enough, before he could even kiss her again she sprang up from his lap and raced off into the darkness. It was an energy that took over her consciousness, one she seldom remembered after it faded away.

Frodo sat back, a little defeated. At least it had ended better then than letting her go into the night with nothing. But he still wasn't tired, and yet he couldn't get her until her energy drifted away. He slowly rose to his feet and turned to go back inside.

As he did so, something sinister and haunting crept up his back and through his neck, into his mind. The Morgul stab was building up, and most of his dark memories with it. He winced, tugging at it as he slipped into bed. A sharp sting of cold entered his shoulder as he tossed in bed and tried to stay warm; he couldn't sleep for the chill, the pain, and the moan of times long gone.

Sev sat out on the proposal hill, staring up at the sky. He hadn't seemed as exhausted as usual, and she thought she might go in and talk to him a little bit until he fell asleep. Her energy had drained away, so she stood and trotted down the grassy hill back home.

Home. Bag End was home. Frodo was home. She smiled broadly; she had home.

Frodo lingered on the border of sleep, some hour and a half before dawn. He didn't recognize when his eyes finally sealed themselves shut. In fact, he would have sworn he was awake the entire time, but the colors in the world around him melted away to a black and white Bag End. He shivered in bed. His missing finger—the remains of it, at least—throbbed slightly.

Sev entered Bag End and stepped lightly into the bedroom. She glanced down, expecting Frodo to be awake. And he seemed to be, somewhat. He struggled slightly in bed, squirming a little bit. Sev's eyes narrowed, and she knelt opposite him on the mattress.

A hand cupped Frodo's cheek. His eyes shot wide open, and he stared up. It felt familiar, but not in the way he'd expected. Familiar, but he hadn't felt it in a long time. Wistful guilt clambered through him at the contact; he didn't dare look to see who it was.

Sev inhaled and exhaled slowly. Frodo locked in place, and she wanted to pull him out of whatever nightmare he'd gotten himself into. Willation had mentioned something very briefly about being able to enter Frodo's dreams, and explained the long, complicated science behind it . . . something about psychological healing. She slipped her hand up close to his head, careful not to touch him.

She'd expected some abrupt, painful process. No such thing: the world around her descended softly into black and white. The window behind her illuminated Frodo starkly on the bed. His eyes were open wide. Sev glared at the hand cupping the opposite side of his face, and she followed the hand's arm up to the face of someone she thought she recognized. He had lines at the corners of his eyes; he obviously smiled a great deal, but didn't now.

Frodo finally hesitantly let his gaze up to the man before him. Smeagol stared back with the eyes of a man physically restored from the Ring's scars, but still pained by what he thought Frodo could have done for him. Frodo didn't know where the guilt inside came from: he had done what he could. But Smeagol wouldn't leave him alone. His hand drifted across Frodo's neck, down to where the Ring laid for so long, and let his fingers down against the hobbit's cheek. Frodo scrambled to a sitting position, breathing hard. But Smeagol did not leave him.

Sev didn't know to what extent she could help, although she burned to drive Smeagol away. The dream reality seemed to numb everything for her; despite that she reached forward and rubbed her fingers over Frodo's back. His shoulders dipped with surreal tension, sliding down from one blade to a deep stretch of indent to the other blade. It confused and worried her.

The warmth breached Frodo's skin, and he jumped. Smeagol melted away into the blackness, but Frodo hardly noticed. He turned suddenly to face this new presence. He couldn't see—the creature was hazy, but the warmth was familiar enough that he didn't try to fight it off.

Frodo's sharp gaze, enhanced by the light behind her, startled Sev. She carefully lifted her hand to his hair and rubbed through his curls . . . as though getting closer to his head would help, but Smeagol was already gone.

Frodo grabbed her hand, bringing it down to where he could see it. He scanned it over repeatedly, afraid of what this now might be. But the haziness of her face, along with his troubled sleep, faded away. She lifted her hand and brushed her fingers against his cheek.

He stared at her, a little surprised. Relief flooded him a shocked moment later, and he reached around, kissing her palm. He shuddered as the thought of replacing her hand with Smeagol's snaked through his mind. He picked up her hand with both of his, and felt some determination to keep it. He brushed his lips across her knuckles, her fingers, down to her wrist, repeatedly with desperation and relief flooding his movement.

Sev blinked and grew a little bit terrified; a bittersweet sort of confused gratitude filled her as she slipped over closer to him. He slowed, staring up at her. He reached forward rather abruptly and kissed her cheek. She inhaled to speak, but then his lips touched hers. Relief and fading pain fluttered through him, and he kissed her repeatedly, bringing her back every time she attempted to pull away and ask what was wrong. She finally gave in and stayed. The intensity of the dream filled Frodo's mind, and he squeezed her close. A small sound flipped in her throat.

Frodo at last let go, but then embraced her hard. Terror stole over him, the memories he hadn't felt up front for a long time. Sev held him, wishing she could right it all.

"Are you all right?" she asked, burying her face in his shoulder.

Frodo traced his fingers over her shoulder and back, followed them with his gaze to remind himself that he was safe here. He swallowed; the side of his head rubbed against her shoulder.

"Smeagol has not left yet," he said finally.

Sev lowered away from him. She'd felt his poisons pulling at her, and she glanced down at the folds of his shirt. She lifted her fingers to his forehead, tracing the line of his curls to his collarbone. She fingered aside the fabric and pressed her palm to his shoulder. The draining started, and the Morgul posion flowed from Frodo's body. He sighed, letting his head hang down.

When she finished, a white scar remained. She pressed against it as though to solidify the healing, although both knew it was impossible. She tipped up his jaw.

"Neither have I."

Frodo's hands slowly drifted up her arms to her shoulders, and he brought her to kiss him. Warmth filled the gap left by the Morgul poison's absence. Sev complied, tender as her lips touched his. She held him quietly until the sun rose very soon afterwards.


	59. Raining Black - HEAVY FluffAngst

**Jayla Fire Gal: Well . . . there's more angst to come, I hope it's okay. XD You can throw pillows at me later. Next chapter should be good; you might like it. :)**

 **Anjion: I'm glad you liked the Pippin/Merry! X) Yeah, but I'm glad Smeagol only returned ethereal . . .**

Some months later, Rosie was expecting again. She kept Sev close constantly, and Frodo saw her little until the day the twin boys were born. Peregrine and Meriadoc, she named them, simply because she knew they would someday unite in mischief. Frodo went over to congratulate Sam, and found him nearly blacked out on the floor.

Pippin and Merry had contributed handfuls of potatoes and mushrooms to the two twins as an omen of future mischief. They cackled as they told Sam how they'd attained them, and he finally calmed when they said the majority were purchased from Farmer Maggot. Sam missed the "most of them" part, but that only set Pippin and Merry to laughing even harder.

Sev left, exhausted, long before Frodo arrived at the Gamgees'. She reached Bag End just as a rumble of thunder rang out from the distance. She stared up at the sky; it would rain soon. But the clouds weren't dangerously thick until some ways off into the horizon.

Frodo stayed with Sam and talked to him for a while as Pippin and Merry went to Bag End. Estella, Diamond, Tarrie, and a few other hobbit women had already gathered with Sev, dancing and laughing. Pippin and Merry slipped inside immediately; they began singing loudly. Small drops of rain pattered down on them, but Sev encouraged them on, lost in the ecstasy of kisses from the sky.

The rain poured harder, and Frodo finally ran home to find Sev. He saw them all dancing, and she called out for him to join them. He stole her away from Merry, and Estella stepped in with her own husband.

They danced until they were drenched. Just as they had nigh finished a rather catchy folk song—Cat and the Moon, one of Frodo's best—lightning cracked through the sky. Tarrie cried out suddenly, but all of them soon began laughing. Sev ushered them rather giddily out the front gate and wished them a good day.

Frodo led her inside when lightning split a tree some distance down the road. She wanted to stay outside, but he thought it unsafe. Finally she followed him in, but she turned the other way to don something warmer than her wet dress. Frodo dried off at her nearby warmth, and his shoulders slumped when she left. Only his feet weren't entirely dry, but that was better than dripping from everywhere.

He stepped into the kitchen and popped a biscuit into his mouth. Sev stood in the bedroom in trousers and a white shirt slipped over one shoulder. She sighed, staring out her window at the rain, banging hard. Lightning cracked again, illuminating the Shire. Sev's scar prickled with energy, and she grabbed at it, whimpering. She hurriedly slipped the white shirt sleeve—a rather loose one—over a tighter one underneath before stepping out into the front room.

She knelt down on the couch. Her scar throbbed and ached with a slow, burning pain. She rubbed the flesh of her neck as close as she could manage, but it pinched too much. She painfully laid her hand over the scar and hoped, wished, that Frodo fared better: he looked so happy now. Tears at her lids flickered, threatening to fall, when she remembered that dark shadow over his eyes. It had faded when the Ring was destroyed, but didn't really lift until Frodo was healed. It wasn't completely gone; it had been changed into a new form of light.

She remembered everything. She'd read The Lord of the Rings over and over, taking in any bit of Frodo she could. She rubbed at her neck, massaging the itching, burning skin there. It stung when she made contact with it. She wanted to bite her fingers until they ran away from her scar. Her eyebrows narrowed, and she closed her eyes.

Frodo stepped carefully inside. He watched her conflict for a moment and realized she hadn't heard him walk in.

"Sev?"

She startled, looking up at him. She sighed when she realized he was fine. He wasn't being stabbed over and over again, he wasn't about to be eaten by a spider, he wasn't being throttled to death by a greedy creature, he wasn't being plagued by the Ring, not like she thought.

Frodo sat down. "Sev, what is it?"

Sev clenched her neck. He didn't know it was there. She swallowed, not meeting his gaze. "It's nothing." She recovered her response when his expression grew skeptical. "To worry about, that is," she said hastily before settling back into the couch. "Just thinking about the adventure. That's all."

Frodo grew concerned and reached for her hand. She stared warily down at it as he slipped his fingers around her hesitant ones and brought their joined hands into his lap. Then his eyes doubled, and she tore her gaze from him.

A purple-black, distorted circle of crusted scab colored her throat, about an inch or two above her collarbone. Frodo's jaw hung open just slightly as he reached up with his free hand. He glanced at her eyes to get permission to touch her, but she didn't look at him. She appeared ashamed, somehow. That confused Frodo, but he went forward and tipped her jaw up out of the way to get a clearer view: it really was a mangled circle. It could have been the scar on her hand if it didn't look so horrid.

"What happened?" he breathed.

Sev winced. "Just the Ring." Her voice came out slightly rasped.

Frodo shook his head, peering down closer to it. Sev backed into the couch, but he didn't notice. "Sev, it looks awful," he muttered. She stiffened when he reached down from her jaw and brushed his fingers over her scar; she inhaled sharply at the tender touch. The scab pricked against his skin, unlike the softness around it. A drop of red from his fingertip slipped into her scar, and she inhaled sharply.

Frodo pulled away, glancing down at his hand. Blots of her purple blood dotted his hand, and his own red blood began to fade from sight, mended by her presence. It was a rather sharp scab, but he hadn't expected it to actually cut him. He glanced up when her breath halted: her scab crumbled away, and new, shiny blood came to replace it.

"Does it hurt?" he asked suddenly.

Sev opened her eyes and stared at him. She didn't know if she wanted to answer that, etiher because it was obvious enough or because if it wasn't she didn't want him to know. But he leaned forward.

"Sev . . ."

She startled. "All right," she blurted, "it hurts. But I won't ask you to do anything for it. You do enough!"

Frodo grabbed her fiercely. Either she couldn't understand or she wouldn't. He just wanted to help, even if he had no way to do it. She breathed hard in his embrace. She might have hugged him back, but her arms were latched tight against her body. She laid her forehead on his shoulder, taking him in.

After a long moment he pulled away. But to hesitate would be to give her an opening to distance herself. He immediately pressed a kiss to her forehead, then began dotting her face with slow, gentle kisses. Sev's jaw slackened; she didn't dare move, not now. She waited until he finished. He paused, then lowered his lips to hers and caught them. Sev exhaled with a slight sigh while she kissed him back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered when he backed away. Sev gasped at the sudden flow of comfort fighting her pain, the war of emotion in her body and soul. She crushed her ear against Frodo's heart, unable to let him go for fear the horrible agony would return. He held her softly, rubbing his hands over her upper arm.

Frodo coaxed her to sleep, after a good hour and a half or so. She wanted to thank him for staying with her, for protecting her, but she couldn't speak—she was so exhausted. He gently laid her head down on his lap and wrapped one arm around her waist while she cuddled up beside him. She nestled in place initially, and he stroked her hair.

He fell asleep there too, although he hadn't intended to. He awakened with his head slacked back on the couch; luckily it was very comfortable. He thought about when they were on the stairs, when he had done the same to her. She'd been backed up against rock, and he winced. He couldn't imagine that had been pleasant.

But all thoughts of the stairs flowed away when he saw her face, soft and serene on his lap. He brushed his fingers over her shoulder, down her arm, back to her waist. Frodo leaned down to her ear.

"I love you, Sev." She yawned when he finished, and he kissed her cheek tenderly. Her eyes flickered open, and she surveyed the world dizzily. Her hand drifted over the side of the couch, and her knuckle touched his toes. He jolted at the sudden touch, then chuckled when she tossed, looking very confused. When she saw his face she remembered where she'd fallen asleep.

She shook her head, still not quite awake. "I am so sorry," she managed. Then she glanced around, and a smile drifted onto her face. "Thank you for staying with me." She reached up and brushed her fingertips down the line of his jaw. Then her hand tiredly drifted to his chest, and he caught it there.

He grinned at her. "I don't get to do that often," he said quietly.

"What? Touch a black scar and have a woman conk out with her head on your lap? I think that happens a lot," she muttered, stretching.

Frodo blushed. "You might be surprised."

Sev blinked as she continued to awaken. She stared up at the window, then sighed. "Morning yet again." She dragged his hand onto her forehead and shoved on his fingertips to prod her head. He lifted an eyebrow. "You can get up if you want," she muttered. "I just don't have the will to move today."

"You don't have to have it," he assured her, reaching down. He pulled his hand from her head and gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. She moaned uncertainly as his lips traveled over her features, but he halted when she spoke.

"I'm awake." She was hesitant to speak; she enjoyed his decision to stay, too tired to be afraid. He stopped, ready to seal that last inch or so between his lips and hers. "By all means, keep going if you feel like it. But I'm not going anywhere, and I won't force you to stay here." She sighed. "I might kiss you back if I thought I could get up. Just give me a second."

He didn't need a second, and didn't think she did either. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her up to him. Sev blinked; she knew what he was doing, but had no time to prepare herself for it. His lips met hers, and she wrapped her hands around the back of his head, running her fingers through his curly hair.

Suddenly she had the energy to move, but she didn't want it. She wanted to stay with Frodo. She rubbed his back slowly.

"If I don't get up I might make you crazy," she muttered.

"I'm already cracked," Frodo reminded her.

She nodded. "But I like kissing you . . . did you know that?"

Frodo paused. Sometimes he did, but there were moments when he wasn't so sure. Right now, though, as she reached up and touched her lips to his, he did. Her every movement was tender and warm; his eyelids flickered when she pulled away.

"I hope you do," she said finally, biting her lip. "Because you're all I really need to be happy."

Thunder rumbled outside, and a gentle rain pattered against the window. Sev leaped from Frodo's lap and turned to him with her hand outstretched.

"Come on. That rain isn't going to dance in itself."


	60. Letter from Home - MAJOR Plot

**Jayla Fire Gal: Ah, exhaustion . . . well, I won't discredit you for that at all. I know the feeling. XP Well, she'll need him more in a minute. X) By the way, this chapter is for you. I hope you like! It's little, but I hope it makes you happy.**

Frodo went out for another day with Pippin and Merry soon after that. Estella opted to keep Sev company, but Frodo knew his wife would be perfectly content to stay at home without anyone with her. Besides, she had received a letter from Sheratan that morning. She hadn't heard from her surrogate "mother" for over 18 years, and she was bursting to read it.

She waved and kissed Frodo away from the front doorstep. He held her tightly there, kissing her periodically at first while she tried to convince him to run off. Then he started to kiss her more playfully, more intently, and she responded with enthusiasm for a long minute. They might have carried on all day, and only stopped because Pippin started teasing them about cuddling. Frodo shot back a comment about how Pippin didn't come outside half as much as he used to because he was busy, and Sev rolled her eyes.

"Lads," she muttered. She pecked Frodo's soft lips once more and shoved him off. "Get out there and enjoy yourselves."

Frodo ran down the road with Pippin, and Sev turned back to Bag End. She could hardly get up the steps fast enough. She raced to Frodo's desk and sat down quickly, ripping open Willation's wax seal. Apparently there was a letter from him too. How the letters had gotten there, Sev didn't know. That is, until she remembered the bird that had brought her Willation's note and Frodo's letter those years before.

Sev quickly began reading. Sheratan told her basically that things were going well at home, that she still lived in the cave at the top of Atansdorre, still saw Willation. She missed Sev, she said. She told her that, in her honor, Empress Verusia of Lavwu had begun an organization for broken alchemical creatures. Sev shrugged that off; it did not pertain to her life here, but hopefully it helped someone.

Sheratan then asked a whole list of questions regarding how Sev's life was with Frodo, and congratulated her on finding him.

The last paragraph brought Sev to a sudden halt.

 _Oh; I almost forgot the most important thing! Willation told me that you've been draining Frodo's essence a little bit, and therefore some of his mortal capacity. I wanted to be the one to tell you this: Sev, you and Frodo are going to be parents._

Sev startled, standing upright. Her eyes quickly scanned the remainder of the letter, about how Willation said the little one would be absolutely adorable. Sev could hardly read the end. Her eyes flooded with disbelieving tears, and she sank to the floor. But that didn't last long. She stood abruptly, pacing the room uncontrollably. A baby. A little hobbit. She rubbed her stomach absentmindedly as tears raced down her face, and she began laughing, just to channel all that miraculous relief. She grabbed Willation's letter after reading that paragraph from Sheratan's eighty times just to ensure she hadn't misread it. Her heart thudded powerfully, and her lungs couldn't move fast enough as she scanned Willation's letter.

She missed most of it, but she found a paragraph and read one single line.

 _I suppose Sheratan already told you (assuming you read her letter first; perhaps you picked up mine, in which case I will tell you) that you are pregnant with a sweet little boy._

Sev sank again to the floor, and the letter fell away. She rubbed her stomach, unable to move otherwise.

Frodo walked through the door shaking his head and blushing. Merry had just suggested going in and snuggling with Sev; Frodo couldn't help but walk inside without any worded response. The two outside were now oohing at him and bouncing around.

Then he saw Sev on the floor, staring into the distance. Her gaze shot up to him.

"Frodo!" She leaped up and wrapped her arms hard around his neck. She spun around him on the floor until Frodo stopped her, holding her in place. But before he could even ask her what was going on, she reached up and yanked his head right close to hers, and their lips locked. Frodo sank into a limp stance until she let go.

He managed, "Sev, what happened?"

Sev bit her lip, jolting in place. "Sheratan. She says I'm pregnant, Frodo! Frodo, I'm—there's—he—,"

Sev didn't get any farther before Frodo smiled widely, epiphany lighting his eyes. He swept her off the ground, and she laughed. When he brought her back down, he covered her face with kisses. She kissed him back, finally bringing his lips again to her own.

They'd been trying so hard for so long.

And now, perhaps, there would be a little Baggins.

 **Now, don't throw tomatoes at me for the next chapter (actually, you're more than welcome to, but I promise everything works out), but the next chapter is HIGH angst, probably more rated T than K+ for how angsty it is. If you want to end on a happy note, this is where you end; they have a family and it's awesome, but if you want to keep going you will plow through hardship and hopefully come out satisfied like they hopefully do.**

 **Thanks for sticking with so far. X)**


	61. Will Baggins

**Jayla Fire Gal: Yup; there's your breather. From the cozy couch into the bonfire, that's what this chapter is, I guess. I won't say I'm laying any subtleties on that. Next chapter isn't the resolution . . . it'll be the chapter after that, the last one, sadly enough. :(**

 **Anjion: *wicked laugh* Then I shall post this chapter and shall be the One Author to-! Getting way ahead of myself. O.o**

 **So this chapter is potentially rated T for high angst and character death; I shall have a summary of the chapter at the bottom for any that don't want to squeam their way through this.**

As Sev continued to peruse Willation's letter, she realized there were heavy risks. Apparently her body didn't quite know what it was doing. What little mortal DNA it had attained from its connection to Frodo was slapdash, and so would be the entire process. Willation warned her that she would be in a great deal of pain, and would lose a lot of blood throughout the entire thing. The baby would be malnourished at least for the start, if not heavily damaged.

But he told her having the little one would be worth it when it was all over.

Frodo read over her shoulder and insisted that she stay at home, get as much rest and move as little as possible. He knew she wouldn't like it, but it had to be done. She didn't protest, but did tell him she wanted to wish Rosie luck at the Green Dragon.

They raced down the hill, somewhat forgetting that they needed to be cautious. Sev slipped into the door and spoke to Rosie while Frodo moved to Sam to tell him.

Both Gamgees reacted rather ecstatically, but Rosie knew more of the situation—knowing what she did of Sev's blood—and gently embraced her. Sev told Rosie that she was going to Bag End to rest, and the other hobbit lass shooed her on.

"Yes, let yourself get lots of sleep. And lots of soup; don't let Frodo dawdle while you're resting!" Rosie called out as Sev slipped out the door.

Sam lectured Frodo just a little bit on not letting Sev out of his sight, but let her get plenty of fresh air and food if she didn't regurgitate all of it. And, being Sam, he said to keep her as comfortable and happy as possible.

"Rosie would say just to work and not worry," Sam said. Then he lowered his voice. "But you have every right to worry, Mr. Frodo. It's a lot of pain for her, even if she doesn't want to say it."

Frodo clapped his friend's shoulder, then hurried when he saw Sev bolt out the door. "Thank you, Sam," he said quickly. "I'll take care of her." He raced out the door after her, only to find her briskly walking back to the burrow. He called out to her, and she turned back to look at him. Despite that, she didn't slow or stop.

He caught up to her, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Sev slowed to a halt, a little wary at this sudden protectiveness. He'd probably double it at the least, now that he was guarding two people.

"Sam says you need to rest, and I think that means I ought to carry you." He might as well lay it out. Beating around the bush only gave her an excuse to charge right through whatever he was hinting at if she felt independent, but she would listen if he said it straight.

She shrugged. "You have told me he's a little protective."

"And I don't think that's a bad thing," Frodo admitted, scooping her up off the ground. She inhaled sharply and wrapped her arms around his neck; it still terrified her to be suspended above where her feet should be, but having been riding Thunderhome around quite a bit it didn't bother her as much as it used to. Although, at least on the back of a horse she had some level of control.

Truth be known, Frodo looked forward to carrying her everywhere. He didn't fear she would get too heavy; she wouldn't want to be transported places if that became the case. He began walking up to Bag End.

Then something occurred to him, something Pippin had mentioned in passing. He was giving Frodo mocking hints about what to do with Sev, and carrying her came up. "The less stable a woman feels," Pippin pointed out, "the more she's going to hold on to you." Pippin insisted this made one feel important and a little triumphant; Diamond slapped his shoulder playfully at the comment, so it was likely true.

Frodo thought it might not hurt to try.

He slowly let his grip slacken. Sure enough, Sev slowly neared him, tightened her hold on his neck periodically. As Frodo ascended the walkway, he allowed his steps to grow uneven. Sev blinked uncertainly, struggling to stay higher up.

"Frodo, you weren't even in there long enough to get drunk." Her voice escalated as she scrambled into his arms.

Frodo laughed. "You're right."

Sev gawked, staring up at him. "You devil! Where did this streak of mischief come from?!"

Frodo let his arms fall just a little bit, and Sev squawked. Her grip around his shoulders tightened as she stared at the ground, and her cheek pressed up against his own. He readjusted his hold on her to lock her in place; she squeezed her eyes shut.

"You devil, you devil, you devil," she breathed as he carried her up the stairs. She forced herself to relax—Frodo was not going to drop her by any means.

"Sev, it isn't so bad, is it?"

Sev shrugged, shaking a little bit. "No." She paused. "I actually do like being carried . . ." She glanced over at the lawn. "But I'm sure other methods of transportation shall have to be uncovered when I'm much larger than I am now."

"Perhaps," Frodo said dismissively. He and Sev reached simultaneously reached for the knob, and his hand covered hers. "I've got it, Sev."

She smiled. "Of course you do. But it's the least I could pay you back with; you brought me all the way up here. Mildly drunk, besides." She winked at him slightly.

Frodo shook his head. "No paying back, Sev. I want to carry you. Besides, you're pregnant." Then he halted as his own words hit him. He reached back and stared at her, released the knob very slowly as it clicked open. "Indeed you are."

His eyes flickered over her features, down to where a little one would make himself known in a couple of months: it really was miraculous that it worked. Sev watched him. His eyes seemed to sharpen as he watched her. It frightened her just a little bit, and she opened her mouth to tell him it was time to head inside. But he reached forward suddenly and lightly touched his lips to hers. She slackened in his arms; he pulled back, glancing over her face to see if he could keep going.

Frodo didn't wait long for her response—he pecked her nose and inhaled slowly as his lips brushed against her face. He trailed kisses down from her forehead to her jaw, taking her in. Sev braced herself up with a hand cupping the back of his neck.

She jolted when Frodo's fingers intially shifted in place and she slid slightly towards the ground, but he hardly noticed.

"Frodo, you're going to drop me," she murmured.

Frodo lifted her back up and gently prodded the door open with his foot. "No . . ." He stepped inside, and Sev thought he was going to set her down. He did no such thing. He picked up right where he left off, continually letting tender, sweet kisses to her face.

She scrambled to stay upright. "There is no way you can stay standing. We're both going to fall over."

Frodo could feel it, but he wanted to show her he could still function through a cloud of affection. He pressed his lips against hers, and she squawked slightly in the back of her mouth. But he did not take it deep, and so she responded. He set her down on the couch, still maintaining the kiss. She backed into the cushion initially, and he followed.

Finally he released her slowly. He pecked her lips again, and then she spoke.

"Frodo . . ." she muttered.

He kissed her cheek. "Hmm?" Then he slipped into place beside her on the couch. He reached for her hand with his unbitten one, but she caught him at it and grabbed the hand with four fingers. She ran her thumb over the uneven surface of his finger, as though admiring it. And admiring it she was. It was a sign of his strength, of all the pain he'd gone through. He hadn't come out unscathed, but he was alive, breathing . . . he was fine.

Sev kissed the tip of his finger twice, just to let him know she meant it. Frodo blushed slightly when she looked up at him.

"Don't hide what's best about you," she chided. Then she wrapped her hand around his and brought both down into her lap.

Frodo sighed and rested his head against hers. "Sev, I need to tell you . . ."

Sev's eyes grew worried, and Frodo moved to reassure her. But Sev's expression gleamed with jocosity as she lifted his hand to her heart.

"No," she said suddenly. "You can't have it back. It's mine now." She lifted his hand to her neck and held it there, rubbing her cheek against his knuckles. "You try to take it back and I bite it away."

Frodo sighed while she caressed his hand. "Sev, you shouldn't be roaming around at night while you're pregnant. Would you be willing to stay here?" He lifted his free hand and cupped her other cheek with it. "With me?"

Sev stared at him. She'd known it was coming, and already knew the right answer. If she stayed away, she could get lost somewhere, in pain and unable to move. She waited a moment before nodding. "You're right. I shouldn't. So I will stay."

Frodo bit back his excitement; he knew it was hard for her. But he couldn't contain all of it, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her close to him. "Thank you," he said. "It'll be for the better, I promise."

She exhaled slowly and nestled into his side. Frodo allowed the serenity of the moment—likely to be rare in the coming months—to settle over them, but after a short while, perhaps forty minutes or so, Sev began to fidget. Frodo breathed deeply.

"Sev . . ."

She sat up abruptly. "You're right. We need to get you to bed." She paused when she stood, about to correct herself, but threw it off. She extended a hand, then glanced outside. "Sev, what are you talking about?" She gained that mocking tone when she addressed herself. This had been developed recently, and Frodo didn't yet know what to think of it. "It's not dark yet!" She sat back down, still fidgeting a little.

Frodo sighed and wrapped his arms around her. "If you want to move around, I'll let you."

Sev eyed his arms with one eyebrow raised high. "Indeed." Then she burrowed against his side. "Suffice it to say I thought it was later than is actually the case." She settled, which surprised him. Her voice was muffled by his shoulder. "We can sit here for a while . . ." She trailed off, and she slacked in place. Frodo sighed contentedly; he didn't know what sort of attitude made her so pliable.

She was obviously tired—for reasons neither she nor Frodo understood, she fell asleep on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead slowly, feeling the slope of her back under his fingers. She looked so peaceful while she slept, and she breathed deeply, swelling and collapsing.

That didn't last uncharacteristically long, despite what Frodo might have wanted. Sev's eyes fluttered open soon enough, and she squirmed in his arms. He released her; she reached up and kissed his jaw.

"Why is your shoulder so comfortable?" she muttered, stretching. Frodo locked his fingers around her waist as she spread herself out over the rim of the couch to keep her from falling. She relaxed and stared up at him, as though saying she wouldn't fall, that she was all right.

Frodo's eyes initially fell to her stomach, and her gaze followed. She accepted a hand up when Frodo extended it to her, and she felt his bitten finger again. Frodo flinched slightly at the touch . . . until he remembered what she'd done earlier. He squeezed her hand. Sometimes he really knew more than usual that she loved him.

But she didn't even sit beside him when he went to bed. He patted the blanket; he just wanted to hold her one more time, but she told him he wouldn't get any sleep even if he just held her hand. So she stood in the far corner of the room, waiting for him to give up and get into bed. He finally complied with a small sigh.

At last she broke out of her corner and approached him, laying her hands on his shoulders to make sure he remained flat. She reached forward and touched her lips to his; she was too tired for more, hence making him stay where he was. He deepened it to the extent he could from such a position, and when she released she laid her forehead against his.

"Good night, love," she murmured. She stepped around the bed to the other side, slipping over the barest edge. She shivered, wondering if she ought to sleep on the floor, but Frodo did not move. He wistfully realized that she probably wanted to rest. He slipped into dreams of black fighting white, creating messy battlefields of gray. He didn't understand why, but didn't have the conviction to awaken.

Sev gathered one of the thick blankets into her arms, holding it close for comfort. She settled to sleep with the side of her head buried in the fabric.

Frodo cared for her for the next few months. She started feeling sick—possibly from psychological impact of the scenario—the morning after she learned she was pregnant, and she didn't really get out of bed much following that. Periodically, when she was alone, she would moan to herself. She could feel every strain of growth deep down, and it nauseated her to feel the stretching and pulling and replacement of pieces within. Her body didn't know how to handle this, and that frightened her.

Frodo only heard about her pain in mutters as she feverishly slipped in and out of sleep. She smiled little . . . in fact she moved little. Frodo did what he could for her, staying by her side every moment he could manage. He ate by her side, read by her side, slept on the floor if she wished to be on the couch in the front room. It was taxing to say the least.

But every time he moved around to do something she asked him to, she would reach up and exhaustedly kiss any part of him she could reach. Sometimes it was his foot, other times his finger, occasionally his cheek, but not often. He watched, worriedly, as her stomach got continually larger. Rosie told him the size was perfectly normal, but Sev couldn't really function, much less walk, without pain. Frodo was certain this couldn't be going right.

One morning Frodo awakened to find her turned away from him on the bed. He furrowed his brow; he'd set her down on the couch the night before. He slipped off the white mattress and stepped over to her; she looked so serene, lying there. For once she did not strain her expression to keep the agony out of it. He missed that, then wondered what it would be like to kiss her awake. He'd only ever been on one end of that process.

He hadn't kissed her in a long while. He knelt down by her side and ran his hand over the white fabric of the shirt Rosie had sown for her. His fingers traced to her elbow, then over where the little Baggins would be. Frodo leaned down close to her face and tucked a stray curl behind her ear; his lips followed his hand, close to her cheek.

"Sev, you're under no obligation to stay for the day."

Sev slipped into consicousness just slightly, then mumbled, "I'm not going anywhere." She felt so sick . . . but he couldn't hear her.

"Sev?" he asked gently.

She didn't respond. She was too tired to move.

Frodo surveyed her face, then leaned forward and eased his lips against hers. She inhaled slowly, coaxed into full awareness as gentle kisses dotted her face. She tried to scrunch and stretch her shoulders, but to move would be agonizing. She decided to wait where she lay until he finished; his lips were soft and caring. She didn't have to move. She wished he'd done this earlier—it made everything wrong go away.

He kissed her lips tenderly, faintly, repeatedly, until she found the strength to kiss him back. The movement shocked him, but he stayed. She reached up suddenly; she wanted it deeper. Her hands locked around the back of his neck as she dragged him closer to her. She moaned slightly, although it was more of a relieved sigh than anything. She pulled her lips from his and sighed again, slacking against the pillow.

"I said I'm not going anywhere," she muttered finally, wincing at that pricking deep in her core. It had started a few weeks before, but she didn't know what it was. "I feel awful."

Frodo reached forward and cupped her cheek sympathetically. She smiled up at him, leaning into his touch . . . such a base of comfort for all she was about to face. "I love you," she managed before a convulsion snapped through her spine, and she winced.

He furrowed his brow. "Sev?"

She shook her head. "It just hurts."

Frodo stood abruptly, and Sev's eyes widened, frantic. "I'll go find Sam," he said. His words were rushed and panicked, like she felt. He turned to find his friend, but Sev's arm shot out from her side. She seized his wrist powerfully for her lack of strength, and Frodo stared back at her with surprise. She released hesitantly, rubbing her thumb over his skin.

"Please don't leave me," she managed. "I'm scared."

Frodo's heart melted just a bit, and he knelt beside her. He caressed her cheek while still holding her hand. She reached forward to embrace him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. He lifted his arms to her shoulder blades; she felt so breakable, and he handled her carefully.

Sev's eyes widened as she stared uncertainly over his shoulder. Pain coursed through her veins, burning. She buried her jaw in his hair; she didn't know what more she could do to have him stay, but then remembered that despite anything she went through he still could decide what he wished to do.

"It hurts," she breathed when a stab entered her stomach.

Frodo sat up on the bed, and she sidled into his lap. Her head lay against his heart; the steady pulse kept her from going absolutely insane, the one consistency outside of perpetual pain in her entire present world.

Frodo frowned thoughtfully as he held her close. "Sev, are you sure you want to do this again? I will refrain, if it's going to put you through so much."

Sev shook her head emphatically, staring up at him. "I want a family! And you will do this again, I'm sure."

"Not if it's going to make us both go through this," he insisted.

She didn't care about that just yet, especially not as she crumpled to another bout of pain. "Don't leave me," she pleaded. Her voice became a strained whisper; she couldn't manage anything more.

Frodo lifted the blanket behind her over her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her torso. "Sev, I'm not going anywhere," he promised. He buried a gentle kiss in her hair, and she squeezed up close to him. Her consciousness flickered away—leastwise a good portion of it did—as he laid a hand over the back of her neck. He flinched; a fever spiked against his flesh.

"You're feverish," he said suddenly. "Are you all right?"

Sev didn't hear him, and couldn't have responded anyway. She slumped in his arms, dizzy. He lifted her off the bed and carried her gently into the living room. He gathered she would want to come back to a comfortable place after (if) anything messy happened. Frodo laid her down on the couch; she slacked in his arms.

He kissed her cheek. "I'll be back, Sev," he whispered. She began convulsing powerfully. He didn't want to leave, but he knew he couldn't do this alone. He raced out the front door and down to the Gamgees'.

Sev's fever didn't break, rather heated enough that it snapped her back into reality. She began breathing harder as convulsions racked her body . . . and something shoved in her stomach. A lump crunched against her skin, trying to break free. She cried out and writhed, reaching for Frodo.

But that sweet source of comfort was nowhere to be found.

Panic struck her as she tossed fruitlessly, as she cried out what seemed an eternity for Frodo. He heard her as he, Sam, and Rosie were headed back to Bag End, and he bolted to the front step. He threw himself through the door and knelt by her side.

She turned over and stared at him. Sweat poured down her forehead, and her convulsions grew more powerful.

"Frodo?" she muttered, disbelieving that he had actually come.

Frodo grabbed her hand in both of his and kissed it frantically. "Rosie says it's time." He stroked her forehead, hurt by all of this pain. She could hardly keep her eyes open; she looked awful. Her hair lay in tangles, scattered about her face. "Oh, Sev . . ."

She shook her head irregularly. "Go. Frodo, go. Don't watch me like this." She gasped with a heavy convulsion, and Frodo squeezed her hand suddenly.

Frodo slipped Sev's hand over his shoulder. She would need all the blood she could get to go through this. The Morgul poison flowed into her system, and she slacked back with the sudden strength. But too late her body began supplying her little one with the blood it needed. She could feel the struggle.

"Frodo, something's wrong," she insisted. Her eyes grew frantically wide.

"No, it'll be fine." Frodo didn't believe anything he was saying. He heard, somewhere in the back of his mind, Rosie telling Sam to grab buckets of water and towels, lots of them. But he didn't really care. The Morgul poison draining drew to a close, but Sev didn't look better just yet. Frodo held her hand desperately to his injury, wishing the poison would flow out even though he didn't have any left.

He lurched with a sudden yank deep within. Weakness flooded his shoulder, and he suddenly realized that Sev's body really was that hungry: he couldn't offer poison yet, but he could give her his own blood.

And so he did.

Sev dizzily opened her eyes as strength trickled into her arm. But this didn't feel like draining. This felt wrong, like a last resort. She stared up at Frodo . . . at the way he suddenly staggered in place. Her gaze turned down to her hand and the sudden influx of red. She tried to wrench away; Frodo caught the movement and kept her hand clamped against his shoulder.

"Let me go," she managed. "Frodo, let me go!"

Frodo shook his head. "You need it more than I do."

"I won't make it if you leave me! Frodo!" She snapped back with a convulsion, and Frodo slumped, helpless, to the ground. His head felt so light, drifting along like he couldn't think anymore. And he truly couldn't.

Rosie helped Sev as best she could. Sam reached down for Frodo, dragging the weak hobbit off the ground. Sam asked if he was all right, but Frodo couldn't form the words—his eyes remained locked on Sev's tossing form. Sam lifted him into a chair and set him gently down.

Sev's cries suddenly grew deathly quiet. Frodo feared to let the sight of her go would be to lose her.

She did not open her eyes for a long time, but Frodo awakened some three hours later. When he did, he felt a little bit stronger. Sev lay, pale and stony, on the couch with her fists clenched at her sides. Rosie stood nearby, biting her knuckle. Sam stepped away from Frodo, a basket in his hands. Frodo's eyes bulged when he realized all the towels were soaked with purple.

"Sev!" Frodo strained to stand, but he couldn't yet. At his voice, Sev tossed on the couch, moaning. Rosie gasped.

"He's coming at last," she breathed.

Frodo sprang to his feet and leaped for Sev, but Sam stepped in the way, holding him back. Frodo struggled against his friend as Sev's moans strained. Sam was significantly stronger than Frodo, having not lost any blood that day. But, good as Sam's intentions were, he didn't realize exactly the effect Sev's labor would have on Frodo.

Frodo struggled helplessly against Sam's grip as he watched Sev, writhing in subconscious agony. "Sam, let me go! Sam!"

Tears flooded Frodo's eyes as excruciating torment surrounded him, slipping into his ears and eyes. She strained on the couch, unconsicously and helplessly voicing her pain. Rosie would occasionally mutter worriedly; the birth was messy and unusual. Her blood drenched and stained endless towels with black-purple. Frodo strained against Sam, trying to shoulder away from the shackles locking him here. He either had to help or run.

Rosie lifted a small bundle at last into Frodo's vision. She bit her lip.

"This is not good," she murmured. Frodo's eyes shot wide open, and he shoved harder against Sam. Rosie glanced up at him, apologetic and pained. The towel she held—wrapped around Frodo's son—soon grew purple as well, and she grabbed a clean one.

"Get him out of here, Sam," Rosie said gravely. "There's nothing he can do for them right now."

Frodo strained in vain as Sam dragged him out the door. "Sev!" Despite the ferocious energy building within him, the strain to help his family, Frodo could not break free of Sam's grip. Some instinct he didn't understand took over him, one he never wanted to feel again. Fear and desperation; he felt nothing more.

Gaffer and Sam both had to work to keep Frodo inside the Gamgee home. Frodo raced for the door, only to be yanked back by one of the two hobbits watching him. Finally reality broke into him, and he collapsed on one knee to the floor.

"Sam," he managed. His throat itched from the pain of tears. "Sam . . ."

Sam knelt down, sympathetically wrapping his arms around his friend. "It's all right, Mr. Frodo," he said, but he didn't entirely believe his own words. "Rosie will take care of her. Sometimes you have to let the woman you love do what she does best."

"She does everything, Sam," Frodo breathed, remembering her every touch. He would ache to miss it if either of them didn't make it through the day. "She is everything."

Rosie stepped into the Gamgee home. Frodo shot to his feet, and she immediately handed him the bundle in her hands. Frodo sank to the bed, more from the weight of impact than from the little creature in his arms. He sucked in a breath . . . then gently pulled back the flap of fabric over his son's face. The little one stared up at him. Sev's name built up in Frodo's throat, and he swallowed it back. The thick mass of black hair and overall facial shape resembled more Frodo than Sev, but the boy had murky blue eyes with dark veins. When he saw Frodo, he giggled.

Frodo's heart caught; he reverently touched the boy's nose. The little hobbit responded by wiggling his hand out of the folds surrounding him. His skin from the neck down was blotched with purple liquid, and the actual veins had little substance in them. He grabbed ahold of Frodo's finger and continued to smile broadly.

"Frodo, look at him," Rosie managed. Frodo glanced at the toes poking out of the towels; all were pale and slightly shriveled. Frodo's gaze turned to Rosie, and she continued, choking back the emotion she felt. "Sev fares little better. We will lose one or both of them today." She coughed it away: she couldn't afford to cry, not now.

The little hobbit yawned, stretching his soft, pudgy jaw. Frodo bit his lip; he couldn't let either of them die. Then epiphany lit his eyes—he didn't have to. Sev could take his blood, as much of it as she needed. He could potentially lose his own life, but in an effort to save theirs it would be worth it. Sev could live if Rosie kept injuries coming. It would be a lot to ask, but Frodo hoped she would do it.

He stared up at Rosie. "Rosie, no matter what happens today, I need you to promise me that you will keep Sev safe."

Rosie paused.

"Take a fresh cut to her every day. A deep one if you can—," he started.

Rosie waved a hand, cutting off his words and her tears. "She's explained the process to me. But, Mr. Frodo, you are the healthiest of your family for the present. I discovered when I was tending to her that Sev's had pneumonia for a few weeks; that didn't exactly help with the birth." She felt a little insensitive saying this all the way she did, but it was for the best if she could explain these things to him.

Frodo nodded. He understood, but she didn't need to know what he had planned. At least he knew she would protect Sev if he couldn't anymore.

"I'm going to go check on her," Rosie said quietly. "I'll be right back, and I'll tell you how she's doing. Watch over your son. Sam, the soaked towels might give him some blood. See what you can do. He didn't cry like he should have; he has little to no blood capacity, and he can't breathe well."

"He doesn't need much breathing," Frodo muttered. "Not if he's like her."

Sev's eyes flickered open at last. She stared dizzily at her stomach; it was so flat now. Blood-soaked towels surrounded her on all sides, and the white maternity shirt Rosie had sown for her was also soaked. She slipped it off over her head, and she had another beneath it that she left on.

Just then Rosie reached up to Sev's forehead, dabbing it with a wet washcloth.

Sev cracked her lips open, then licked them. They tasted of her blood, cold and bitter, and were relatively dry. "Rosie? What happened? Where is he?"

Rosie swallowed. "We had to take him down to Gaffer's. He was in hysterics; you really worried him." She paused.

Sev nodded. "Thank you, Rosie." But she hadn't been asking about Frodo. "And my son? Where is he?"

Rosie bit her lip. "I took him to Gaffer's. They're doing what they can, but you two lost so much today."

Sev calculated very quickly. She didn't have much blood, but she could keep her baby alive if she could touch him. She could channel what blood she had to him; they had the same system, to some extent, so it should work.

She grabbed Rosie's arm. "I want to hold him, at least once." She flickered her eyelids, hoping Rosie didn't suspect anything. "Please."

Rosie nodded sorrowfully. "Of course, Sev." She rubbed Sev's cheek, then turned. "I'll bring him back."

Sev laid against the couch. She couldn't wait that long—she had to do something. She quickly began plotting a way to get up and out to Gaffer's, and for sake of time she would hopefully meet Rosie on the way.

The moment Rosie got back to the Gamgees', she reached for the little hobbit in Frodo's arms. Frodo handed him over very gently, determined to save both his wife and his son.

"How is she?" he said quietly.

Rosie paused. "She's alive."

Frodo sighed with relief. His eyes slacked back with the impact of the sigh. He stepped abruptly past Rosie towards the door; his voice returned to her with slight urgency. "I'll be right back."

"Tell her I'm coming," Rosie called out. "She wants to hold her baby before he . . ." She hesitated, unable to cap it anymore. She buckled slightly, biting back tears. Sobs shivered through her lungs as Sam reached for her.

Frodo leaped through the doorway, still very weak. He gripped the side of the door hard—he would not let Sev die. And, if all was right with her, the boy would live too. Frodo didn't even know what to name him, but he already knew he loved him. He sprang down the path to Bag End, nigh limping along for the faint drag on his entire body.

Sev glanced up, startled, when he swung inside. He knelt down beside her, relieved to see her for himself, see her moving and alive.

She stared almost accusatorily up at him. "How much did you let me drain from you?"

Frodo shrugged, shaking; he didn't actually know. He reached for her hand, and the warmth of her touch skittered up his skin. He breathed slowly when he realized he might never have felt her again if she'd died during the process. He swallowed fearfully: perhaps this would be the last time he felt her.

Sev thought something along relatively similar lines. It had terrified her beyond anything she wanted to feel when he started channeling blood to her, for she didn't want him to die. He had nothing to do with this fight more than being what she fought for, leastwise in her mind.

Her gratitude was deep enough that she strained upright and grabbed his hand with both of hers. She kissed his knuckles slowly, taking in the fact that he was still all right, that they were together for now. And, as far as she knew, her little one was still alive. Will, she'd wanted to name him. She hadn't told Frodo yet.

Before Sev could lower herself from kissing his hand, Frodo glanced up . . . and saw her legs. He gasped audibly. Sev scrambled to back away, but she could undo nothing. Frodo reached forward, disbelieving. Her legs were visible from the knee down, and every inch of them was ridiculously pale and empty, weak with no substance to them. Frodo carefully stroked them, fearing he would break them or fall through them: they looked like ghost limbs.

"Sev . . ." He stared up at her. She had asked Rosie if she could hold her little one. Frodo hadn't a doubt she wanted to save him, sacrifice anything she could spare—or more than she could afford to—to keep him alive. Frodo's eyes narrowed. "Sev, you don't have enough to save him, much less preserve yourself."

Sev set her expression against him. "I have enough for his body, not mine. This is the only way to do it. Please trust me; I can sacrifice myself if necessary."

Frodo shook his head, leaning towards her. "You won't die, Sev," he breathed. His nose touched hers, and she swallowed. Warm tingles lit up his face. "Neither of you will. There is another way."

"What other way? We have nothing else."

Frodo battled with his despair. He couldn't take the lack of certainty anymore (he didn't know if she would honestly make it through this alive yet), and he desperately pressed his lips to hers with everything he had. Sev breathed in slowly; she expected this kiss to be her last. She responded, and through the depth of it Frodo took a moment to locate her hands with his own. He dragged them up to his shoulders and pressed her palms to his wounds. He gave a lurch as his empty scars protested . . . but finally they channeled energy to her. Frodo strained with weakness, deepening the kiss to block his pain.

His own failing ability to stand dragged him away from her. Sev blinked; she'd felt his shoulders, recognized that there was nothing to drain, but didn't quite process that they were empty until his lips released hers. His face paled, and his eyes tried to drag shut.

Sev panicked when she saw him. She stared down at her hands, now flowing partially with red. She gawked up at him and began to tremble.

"Frodo! What have you done?!"

Frodo's eyes flickered open and shut. His world grew hazy as he reached forward, and his fingers shuddered as they graced her face. "You'll be fine," he breathed, more assuring himself than anyone else. He kissed her one last time and felt no more.

"Frodo!" Sev grabbed him before he could slack completely to the floor and dragged his limp form up into her arms. "No, no, no," she begged frantically. "Why did you do that, you devil?!" She choked back a sob, cupping his motionless face with both hands—her thumbs stroked back on his pale skin. She stared down at the pink tint in her own flesh and pulled the fabric of his shirt aside: the Morgul stab had swelled to an angry red, daring her to finish him off. She hissed at it, then threw her palm over his heart. It beat weakly under her fingers, causing her to bite her lip initially.

She growled to herself bitterly. "Come on," she insisted. "Give it back. Give it back, cursed anti-creature . . . I didn't come this far with _you_ just to lose him." Finally she felt her phyiscal strength trickling from her palm. She wished her blood would reject his, but at least her subconscious could consider this an investment in future survival.

But Sev didn't intend to survive through the future.

Frodo's blood channeled slowly away from her. She lowered her forehead to his, felt the warmth return to it.

"I wish you would just let me die," she whispered. "Keep yourself alive; I thought that's what mortals did." She swallowed, and tears clambered down her face. "But look at you: risking your life for some creature that wasn't supposed to exist, just because you—," She choked. "Just because you love her." Sev brought his cheek to meet hers, and her conviction to keep him safe strengthened. She didn't want to die just now, but she'd rather herself than Frodo or Will.

Finally Frodo staggered in a breath, and Sev pulled away suddenly. His vision flickered back to him, along with a slight bit of renewed strength. Sev knew that to give all back to him would be to let him keep her locked down to the couch; saving him would be lost if he gained full consciousness.

His eyes opened slowly. Sev breathed a sigh of relief when she saw them.

"I don't have to live to be fine," Sev said. "Stay safe; I'll do what I can to come back." She pecked his lips and laid him on the couch before turning to the door. She stared at him while she stumbled to the doorway and grabbed a sturdy walking stick. She didn't want to leave him, but when she thought about the alternatives she knew she would rather Will lived.

Sev staggered out the door; she couldn't move faster than that, but she didn't dare wait for her strength to return. Chances were excellent that, even if she did survive, she would never be strong again. Frodo was empty of poison now . . . but her body dragged back towards Bag End. Sustenance from his very life was back there if she drained him.

She lurched herself forward, limping for the Gamgees' on what she thought was a shortcut through the grass. She had to save Will first; then, if she survived, she would return to Frodo.

Frodo awakened fully a few minutes after she left. He slowly turned his head, looking for her, and then it hit him.

He bolted out of Bag End, nearly collapsing on the stairs. "Sev!" He ran towards the Gamgees', but didn't see her on the way. He met Rosie on the road; the woman held his son tightly.

"Have you seen Sev?" he gasped, relieved that she hadn't yet gotten to Will.

Rosie shook her head. "No. Isn't she at home? Did she get up?" Her eyes widened worriedly.

Frodo nodded. "She got a little bit of strength back, and I'm certain she's coming to find you." Rosie turned to lead him to Sev, and he reached for the bundle in her arms. "Here. I'll carry him; you've done so much for us."

Rosie jerked away and glared at him slightly. "Now, see here, Mr. Frodo. You're a tad too weak to carry him, much less yourself. I'll carry him. He's all right." She paused. "For now." She strained not to cry again; seeing the sweet little thing in her arms, she didn't want to let it die, but she didn't know how the Baggins family could change what had befallen Will.

Frodo finally spotted Sev, straining to step without grabbing the trees around her. She grumbled to herself—her knees were about to give way below her, but she refused to let them. She had to find Will first.

"There," Frodo said hastily, and Rosie joined him going down to her. "You should tell her to take care of herself," he admitted. "She doesn't listen to me."

"Because she's obstinate, Mr. Frodo," Rosie said matter-of-factly. "She'll do anything to save the little one. You might as well just let her."

Sev's head shot up when she heard Frodo, once he got close enough. "Rosie, she'll kill herself," Frodo insisted. Sev jolted hard enough that the stick gave way from the sudden lack of pressure, and she collapsed to one knee. Frodo raced to her side, but she had eyes only for the little bundle in Rosie's arms.

"Hello, Rosie," Sev said. Frodo flinched at the sudden hiss in her voice: something deep down wanted Sev gone, had always wanted to get rid of her, and now it saw a window that Sev herself wanted to go through.

Rosie backed away, for she sensed it as well. "Is it true you'd kill yourself saving him, Seville Baggins?"

Sev's eyes narrowed slightly, but she leveled them out. She couldn't feel this for getting rid of herself—she had to feel it for Will, for Frodo. But that desire was empty; the hunger to be gone had taken over. "Yes, if you must know," she said quietly. "But there's no other way to save him."

Rosie backed away. "He won't grow up right without a mother."

"Rosie, please give me my child," Sev managed, reaching forward. She actually got up, and Frodo reached for her. She glared at him slightly and stuffed her hands into her sleeves. "No; you almost died back there." She swallowed a lump growing in her throat. "Don't scare me like that."

"Sev, you'll die if you don't take blood from me," Frodo insisted, stepping forward.

She gestured wildly to the little boy in Rosie's hands. "That doesn't matter! He's what matters right now!" Her outburst caused her to sway in place, and Frodo caught her while she crumpled to the ground. Frodo gently stroked her upper arm, but she obstinately locked her fingers around her elbows to keep them from being taken out of her sleeves.

"Listen to me," Frodo insisted. "Take it, Sev."

"I'll die without you!" she persisted. She didn't look at him, try as he might to turn her towards him. Her voice escalated slightly. "If you die, the family crumbles, Frodo. I can't live, much less provide for him."

Frodo squeezed her close. "As though it wouldn't happen if you died." Hearing himself use those last two words sent shivers through Frodo's core, and he tightened his hold. "Rosie has promised to keep you alive if I don't make it. Sev, listen to me: this is the best way."

Sev paused, finally staring up at Frodo. She could see the pleading in his gaze and knew he would never let it go. And she was running out of time if she wanted to let Will live. She calculated that if she drained Frodo and saved Will, she could turn around and give everything back to Frodo once he was unconscious. Maybe all three of them could make it, and at least Frodo and Will both would; nothing more mattered to her.

She swallowed, but said nothing. She gave a simple nod, and Frodo released her just enough so he could pull the shoulder of his shirt aside. Sev slowly laid her head against his heart, felt the strong pulse through fabric. She squeezed her eyes shut when she realized she would feel that pulse weaken, possibly halt, before it did thrummed powerfully by her ear again. She eased her fingers over his scar, and he jolted as she did so.

Sev couldn't open her eyes, couldn't see Frodo in pain the way he would be until she stopped. She shook her head ever so slightly, listened to his breathing grow more labored. He tried to keep it quiet, but his very life fell away in pieces and he couldn't do other than what initially happened. She refused to carry forward with this; it hurt too much.

As she drained him, Rosie stepped forward and pulled Sev's limp, spare arm up, placing Will gently inside. Frodo strained to keep his eyes open, and he saw Rosie move. Sev did not budge, numb to what was going on. Frodo nudged her gently—he feared she wouldn't see Will before Frodo died.

"Sev." His lips touched her ear. "Sev, look."

Sev jerked back, and the draining halted, for which she was grateful. She subconsciously wrapped her other arm around Will . . . and then realization hit her. She reached up and pulled the fabric back just slightly. She inhaled sharply, backing into Frodo's chest, and he wrapped his arms around them both as she surveyed Will.

The little one's eyes opened. Sev's jaw hung slightly ajar; he had her eyes. He giggled slightly when he saw Frodo, and Sev choked back a sob. The little one had her eyes, but Frodo's light in them. That was the sight she'd wanted to see, all her life: some part of Frodo in her.

Her conviction to save Will sharpened, and she stuck her finger out to his little hand. He grabbed her extended finger, and a purple tint spread across the skin of both. Frodo and Rosie stared, hopelessly uncertain, as their hands began to pulsate. Sev's eyes glazed over, and the baby's face grew solemn.

 _Mother._

Sev's eyes bulged, and her world became a vision. A young man approached her through the distant trees; she could not run to him like she wanted. She surveyed him carefully. He looked a great deal of Frodo, but with black veins in his eyes and a careless smile. His skin was darker, as though he spent a lot of time outside. He had an athletic build . . . which confused Sev, but she accepted that. She knew who he was.

He knelt down before her and laid a hand on her shoulder. _Mother, go on without me_.

Frodo's eyes widened as the boy's grip slackened. The purple pulsing grew stronger on Sev's part, but it did nothing. Soon the channeling halted altogether.

"I'm not going to let you die," Sev protested. "I can save you!"

Will shook his head. _There are fourteen more of us waiting. You and Father must both live. Now that I've been born, I'll be waiting for you when you die._ He smiled sadly. _I'll miss you, but I'll watch over you both. Goodbye._

Sev jolted out of the vision suddenly. "Will . . ." she moaned.

The pulsing stopped, and Will's gaze turned exhaustedly to Frodo. The vision entered his mind this time. Will stepped forward, kneeling before his father.

 _Watch Mother; she cares for you more than you know. And I'll be fine. I'll meet you when you catch up to me._ Will smiled. _I love you both._ He backed away, fading into the forest surrounding Frodo.

Frodo slipped out of the vision, only to watch as Will's eyes settled shut and the slight bit of color in his face faded away. Sev whimpered slightly and closed her eyes, bringing Will's limp body up to rest under her jaw. She settled against Frodo; she grew slacked and broken.

Tears crept from Frodo's eyes as he held his family. The love between them had been powerful in the time Will was alive, simply because they all tried to keep each other living. Frodo only hoped Sev would heal; he knew mortals eventually rose over their pain, and he knew what it was like. He did not fear the future so much as the present hurt.

"His name was Will?" Frodo asked finally.

The hobbit stiffened slightly when Sev's tears dripped against his arm.

"Yes," she said gravely. She sat in his arms for a quiet moment, fingering the cheek of the child she no longer had. Will told her he would be fine dead, that it was the best for the whole family living and not born yet, but she couldn't shake the fact that she'd failed him. She'd failed Frodo as well. She could have kept the light living, let the darkness fade away, sacrificed herself—the anti-creature—for two beautiful hobbits.

Will said fourteen more. But she didn't know if she could do fourteen more . . . how many she would lose.

At least she still had Frodo.

"And we have to keep moving," she added, monotone.

Frodo didn't feel that she meant it; she sat so hopelessly.

Rosie stepped forward once she surpassed her pain. It took a while . . . but she could tell Frodo and Sev were hit so much harder. They didn't move, both just staring at Will.

She extended her arms, and Sev numbly laid Will in them. Rosie stepped away, unable to look at the child.

"Come," she said gently. "Let's take him to my little girl."

 **Basically, Sev gave a faulty birth and in a big long struggle it finally came through that the child didn't make it, but his spirit appeared to Frodo and Sev expressing that he has other siblings waiting to be born that would likely survive the birthing process better than he did.**

 **There's your sad chapter. :( And it doesn't get better for a little bit, but eventually it does, I promise. Thank you all for staying with this. :)**


	62. Eyes Closed and Hearts Shut - BIG angst

**Jayla Fire Gal: Thank you so, so much; you can say that as often as you want, because sometimes I need that. :) Most amazing? Dang, I thought you were going to kill me for it. XP Yeah; assuming Will is right, things should be okay. :)**

 **Anjion: 61 in one word-intense. O.o This won't tone down much . . . but the next chapter should.**

 **Speaking of that, this chapter is rated T for suicidal thoughts/attempt. The end of the chapter gets fluffy, though, and the next few chapters will be plain fluff. O.o**

Sam buried Will for them, right next to Seville Gamgee. Frodo still didn't have all his blood back, but Sev didn't notice and he said nothing—therefore he hadn't the strength to stay conscious for long. Sam laid Will gently in the hole he'd dug out, and when he gently scooped the first bit of dirt back into the new grave Sev gasped: it hit her that she would never see Will again. She buried her face in Frodo's shoulder, unable to watch. Frodo exhaustedly wrapped his arms around her, but he wouldn't be able to stand up much longer.

Rosie and Sam left the two of them after a while. The sun shone bitterly over the world, so bright that Sev didn't dare take her face from Frodo's shoulder. The comfort she needed in order to stay alive—potentially literally speaking—offered no benefit but distancing herself at least a little from complete despair.

But then Frodo blacked out, slumping against her. She squawked in surprise, stumbling with her legs braced to stay upright. Frodo fell nearly to the ground before she wrapped her arms around his torso and dragged him back up.

"Frodo!" She surveyed him, realized his skin was pale. But she'd given back what she could, hadn't she?

Her eyes widened in horror: she hadn't given anything back to him.

She quickly laid Frodo on the ground and shoved her hand over his heart. Despite her self-assurances that it was all just something she'd forgotten, that he was going to be fine, she wouldn't stop trembling. Her breathing grew faster and faster, harder and harder.

"Come on, come on!" she pleaded. Blood flowed painfully slowly from her back into Frodo, but it obviously wasn't enough. She channeled until she couldn't anymore. Little color returned to his face; she could only give him back what he had given her. She wanted to give him the blood from his poisons as well, but that would kill him.

She shot to her feet and bolted straight for the Gamgees'. She was grateful for a fleeting second that Will had given his blood back to her, but she shook it away. "Sam! Sam, help! Sam!"

Merry, having just left the Gamgees' on his way to comfort Frodo and Sev, ran towards her from the direction she was heading. He nearly slammed into her, but she whisked around him. He reached back and grabbed her shoulders, but she scrambled away.

"Whoa, whoa!" Merry exclaimed. "Sev, what is it?"

Sev trembled uncontrollably. "It's Frodo. He fell unconscious. Please, Merry—!"

Merry tried to settle her. "Where is he?"

"By Seville's grave." Sev swallowed, getting a hold of herself. "Please . . ."

Merry tore away from her towards the cemetary. He turned his head barely back to her. "Find Pippin! I'll get Frodo!"

Sev nodded assertively and took off for Pippin's home. Tears sprang from her eyes and flew back, sticking to her cheeks in the speed of her flight. She prayed Frodo was all right; she couldn't lose him too.

Merry and Pippin lifted Frodo into Bag End. Sev basically ran circles around them, whimpering and wishing he would wake up. Pippin gravely told her, as he stepped out of the house, that Frodo had a fever. Chances were excellent—almost certain—that Frodo had attained pneumonia from Sev, and with his blood loss could not battle it very well.

She waited by his side every minute she wasn't soaking clothes in boiling water or making food in case he woke up. She locked the front door, and no one came or went. Rosie stopped by once to see how they were doing, but Sev looked so awful: pale and afraid, her hair tousled and her eyes rimmed with dark purple from lack of motivation to keep going. Rosie asked if she could help, but Sev numbly told her that Frodo would not get better unless she gave him blood and time. She thanked Rosie, said that she ought to enjoy life for now. The Bagginses would be all right.

Hopefully.

After sitting by his bed for a week with no sign of his awakening, Sev buried her face in her hands. She despaired for a moment, thinking she ought to give it one more week, but she couldn't. He hadn't eaten the whole time, and the first time she got water down his throat he hadn't responded well. She had to give up soon.

But his heart was still working. He'd been breathing steadily the whole time. She occasionally nestled by his side and just felt his lungs swell, then settle, swell, then settle, for hours on end, as though every breath would be his last. Sometimes she held his hand and rubbed her thumb over the back of it. She wondered if she would ever hear his voice again. She itched to read with him, talk with him, laugh with him, kiss him.

She pulled away from her hands, eyeing them. Her eyes widened when she saw a salmon tint to her skin. A tiny trace of Frodo's blood, left in her system, had replicated into more over the past week. How she had not noticed she didn't know, but regardless she leaped over to the side of the bed and pressed her hands to his chest.

She couldn't even whimper anymore—much less talk to him—as her hope was that far gone. But there was a sliver of a chance that he might just need this, and then he would come back.

The blood refused to channel back into him. She grumbled to herself hastily; why couldn't he take it? It trickled in a little bit . . . but then something began to drain back out. She considered that perhaps the mortal part of her had been ill before, but now her anti-creature construct could take the pneumonia from him. And he had enough blood for himself, or so she gathered; chances were excellent a week could let the blood replicate sufficiently, and she could come up with no other reason why he wouldn't take it back.

Frodo awakened with a start as renewed energy entered his system. His eyes were too heavy to open, but suddenly consciousness flooded him. Something warm pressed down on his chest. He coughed when he tried to speak.

Sev startled when he moved. She reached forward, sitting fully on the bed beside him. "Frodo!" Her fingers fluttered over his torso and face, caressing and hopeful. He tried to reach up and kiss her, let himself know she was all right. She laid her fingertips over his mouth, and her arm tingled when he reacted. "Frodo, please wake up." She cupped his jaw. "Please be all right."

Frodo's eyes flickered open. He coughed again; he decided that speaking was not the best thing to attempt in the moment.

Sev scrambled to get him into her arms. "Frodo, you're alive!" She gently squeezed him close, and his cough subsided with her warmth. She rubbed his back, biting her lip hard. "It's all right," she breathed, thanking Willation deep inside. She settled against Frodo, reaching up to gently rub the back of his neck and run her fingers through his hair.

Frodo opened his mouth to speak one more time, but already he could feel a cough building up. His lungs rattled to keep the cough back, and Sev felt the vibrations of it. She laid him back down on the bed, but he still refused to cough. She pulled away and pressed gently on his chest until he finally let a cough out. Her warmth took the rest of his initiative; while the healing process of his pneumonia was slow, he felt better every passing second.

"Sev . . ." he managed.

Sev grabbed a loaf of bread from the side table and ripped off a piece. "Here. You haven't eaten all week," she said gently. As he ate slowly, watching her, she sat back and spoke. "You've been sick the whole time. I gather you didn't have enough blood to stay alive . . . and Will didn't make it." Sev's voice slowed as she came to that realization. "All that pain, Frodo, and I couldn't save him. He wouldn't take it! He should have lived. I'm only too glad that you're alive, but I deserved more to die than he ever did."

Every second she spoke Frodo grew more and more perplexed. He felt like she wished she'd died—but he didn't. He wished she could see she was wanted, but she seemed adamant about believing she was worth so little despite everything she tried to be and do. He felt some dark trace of self-loathing when she spoke, and he wanted to remedy it.

"You'd be better off raising him," she muttered, staring at the ground as she spoke her direct thoughts. They wouldn't stop coming. "It's almost too much, to think that I could make you go through all that fourteen more times." She shook her head. "And who knows how many of them will survive? But it's bound to happen; you would want some pieces of it, anyway. And how hopeful you are! How do you handle—?"

Frodo exhaled and inhaled quickly. "Sev."

She stopped, eyeing him. She tried to appear apologetic, and it worked to an extent. He could tell she regretted something, but not what he had hoped for.

He breathed heavily. "I'm glad you're with me," he said finally.

Sev reached forward and slipped her hand into his. "As am I."

Confusion and perplexity bubbled up in Frodo. He shook his head slightly. "It doesn't sound like you are; you almost seem to want to be dead, not here with me."

Sev grew rigid. "No! It's not like that at all!" She paused. "Maternal desire, I suppose," she said slowly. But she assumed that wasn't it, and Frodo knew so. "Frodo, it was hard to watch him die. Wouldn't you have given your life for him? Troneterra, you almost did." She exhaled slowly. "You scared me. I guess I saw my options and thought dying was best. Still think it would have been; that doesn't mean I wish I were dead."

Frodo blinked; he felt decently discouraged at this. "But you would trade your life with Will's . . . and think the world better for it."

She nodded emphatically, then slowed. She didn't understand what was wrong with that. She threw it aside and lifted his hand to her mouth, kissing it periodically. Warmth trickled up his arm, but he threw it down. He had to find out why her attitude was bothering him so much first.

"But I'm glad I still have you. You scared me." That simple set of words kept coming back to her. "I thought you were going to leave me." She swallowed.

Frodo felt little from what she said or did; her desire to die still perplexed him greatly. He didn't know what he could tell her to convince her. He told her he loved her so often. Could he do more?

"Frodo?" she asked.

Frodo shook his head. The sickness, exhaustion, shock and everything was getting to him, he decided. It had been a difficult year . . . the last month or so at least, but when he thought on it having Sev indisposed wasn't entirely helpful.

"I just need some time," he admitted.

Sev's brow furrowed.

 _He's not happy with you, Sev,_ she thought. _Just leave him. You're not helping; you're only making him feel worse._

 _Why did he marry you, anyway?_

Sev bit her lip and leaned forward. "I'll leave you, then," she said gently. She touched her lips to his. He was so warm and tender; he even kissed her back (taken suddenly by her soft kiss), but hopelessness still spread through her with every thud of her heart. She drew slowly away from him. "Goodbye, Frodo." She squeezed his hand and backed out, walking away from Bag End before Frodo could ask her to stay. Her words sounded like a farewell, and he didn't know how to process that. But he didn't have the strength to stand just yet.

She walked carefully out of Bag End until the door was shut, and then she leaped away, tearing over the nearby hill. She collapsed over Will's grave and hugged her knees to her heart; she couldn't shake every mistake she'd made, every hurt she could possibly have caused to everyone around her. She repeated them inside until she couldn't even feel pain anymore, much less the desire to keep going.

Her forehead met the ground, and her eyes eased closed. Frodo wasn't happy with her, for whatever reason, and she'd failed everyone around her. She swayed back and forth. Tears wouldn't even come: she couldn't feel enough to cry.

Sev's hand eased back to a sheath at her waist as she swallowed. Frodo would have been better off going to the Havens. Sure, he loved her, but peace would have topped all of this suffering she'd thrown on him. First the lack of physical affection—he'd spoken to her about that once—and then the result from her change, the little one she'd carried around, was dead, before her, in the ground.

Her fingers wrapped around the knife at her side. She could say goodbye to Frodo first, she supposed. It would not be a fast death, as long as she didn't drain him and allowed her essence to trickle out—a simple prick to her finger would do. It would take a few months; she could send Frodo to Tol Eressea. Maybe he would be happy to see her go.

Frodo hadn't been sitting alone for two minutes when a vision of Will standing before him flashed into his sight. He jolted in place when his son crossed his arms, his eyes bulged frantically. He shimmered like a reflection on thin, clear water.

 _Father, there's no time! I'm going to get Rosie, but you must take it from there. Mother's trying to kill herself._

"Kill herself!" Frodo stood abruptly, and Will held up a hand.

 _You won't make it in time._ Will stepped towards the door, but then he paused and looked back. _I suppose I came here first to tell you that her pain is not because of you. She will have to change._ His gaze fell. _I only hope she learns._

With that, Will vanished.

 _Mother!_

Sev's Assassin knife slipped past her skin, landing in the ground. A small circle of grass surrounding the knife decayed instantly, and the earth blackened there. Sev jolted when some pressure grabbed her heart, yanking upwards. Her gaze lifted to the shimmering image of a girl. The specter held a crutch with her only arm. She had dark hair . . . and Frodo's eyes.

 _Mother, get up! Don't do that!_

Sev scrambled to her feet, staring down at the little girl. She looked full-grown, but only stood about up to the lowest bone in Sev's ribcage.

"Don't do what?" she asked carefully.

 _Don't kill yourself._ The girl pouted somewhat jocosely. _I'm the last one! So not all of us will live . . ._ Her voice softened. _But we're all yours, and we all love you._ _Don't let us down._

Sev paused. "Are you sure you want me?"

The little girl embraced her legs, and Sev startled. Her arms did not feel mortal; they felt like water, permeable but not wet, somehow. _Of course I want you: you're my mother. And Father loves you too. Don't leave him._

Sev's heart twanged. She'd spent her whole life trying not to let him leave her, trying not to leave him. She eyed the knife, realizing what she had been about to do.

She spoke to the girl for some time; it took a great deal of repeated assertion on the spirit's part for Sev to finally kneel down and say that she would go home to Frodo. She felt a little bit better, but only for hope that Frodo would forgive her. She intended to tell him what she'd tried.

The little girl cupped her mother's cheek. _Go home and heal him. His pneumonia will go away, and we will start coming._ She smiled. _I may not be a whole hobbit, but I still want to come! Don't give up. Please don't give up._

"What more can I do for him?" Sev managed.

The girl laughed. _Mother, he just loves you._

"He says that," she sighed.

Suddenly her daughter grew solemn. _And he means it. Get a hold on that, and life won't be so hard._ She stood and turned to leave. _I love you both._

"Wait. What is your name?"

The girl shrugged. _Whatever you decide._

Sev stared at the girl's hair. Darker than Frodo's . . . wavier than curly.

"Ebony."

Ebony giggled. _I like that. That's good enough._

She faded away, and Sev stood, ready to apologize to Frodo. She still didn't know how she would make it through life, but at least she had something to keep her going for a little while.

Frodo stood and bolted to the door, but before he even got there he stumbled against the couch, stopping to rest. He tried to call her name, but the door flew open and Rosie, followed by Sam, burst into Bag End.

Rosie knelt down by Frodo, and Sam dragged him up onto the couch.

"Frodo, we heard you all the way from Gaffer's," Rosie said worriedly. "What is it?"

Frodo grabbed her shoulder. "It's Sev. She's trying to kill herself; we have to go find her."  
Rosie gawked, then leaped to her feet and raced for the door. Frodo tried to follow, but Rosie held up a hand. "Sam, keep him here. He has to rest and be better for when she gets back. I'll be faster alone." She tore out of the house, shocked. She didn't have time to really process what Frodo had told her.

Sev started walking away from the gravesite, a little chagrined at herself. Only to an extent did she feel better, but it was enough to stay alive for now. She left her knife by her son's grave; it would be too dangerous to take it home at a time like this.

"Sev!"

Sev's head shot up. She didn't understand why everybody was calling out to her all of a sudden. She noted sarcastically that perhaps it was because somehow word kept getting around the people she knew best that she was having trouble. She wondered a little bitterly if she just should have drained away quietly so no one had to worry about her.

Rosie raced down the walkway, relieved to the extent of trembling that Sev was all right. She leaped into Sev's arms and crushed her close; the anti-creature yelped slightly with the pressure, but once she adapted to her lack of ability to breathe she embraced Rosie back.

"Sev, how could you?!"

Sev opened her mouth to respond . . . but then her shoulder grew damp. She paused as she realized it had hit Rosie that hard. How Rosie knew what Sev was going to do, she didn't know. Sev squeezed her friend, and a sob finally escaped Rosie. The last couple of weeks had been hard on the poor hobbit.

The anti-creature exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, Rosie," she breathed.

Rosie pulled away and sniffled. "Don't do that again." She sounded rather solemn, and that hit Sev hard. She nodded, but somehow was not more convinced to avoid it: if all she could do in life was make people upset, why stay? She decided to think on it later.

"Frodo's scared stiff! Sam had to hold him down; he's so worried about you!"

Sev nodded, suddenly remembering where she was going. She rubbed Rosie's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I honestly am." She was probably more trying to convince herself that she didn't want to leave the ones she loved. "I'm going to go to him. Rosie, go take care of your children: I'm all right." She cupped her friend's cheek; Rosie sniffled again, and Sev thumbed the tears from her eyes. "It's okay. Sam will come home, and I'm not going to try that again."

Rosie nodded, glancing at the ground. As she walked slowly away, she didn't take her gaze from Sev. Sev could feel nothing but guilt, watching her shamble off.

"We love you, Sev," Rosie managed. "Can't you just see that?"

Sev bit her lip. Sometimes she could . . . but there were moments, long moments, when love felt so liquid, something that made little sense, enough that she couldn't feel it anymore deep down. She slowly turned back towards Bag End, then increased her pace to a trot when she realized that the sooner she got home the sooner Frodo would stop fighting and rest.

Frodo strained to get around Sam. He'd let Sev go through Will's birth alone, and he had to go to her now. If she'd already started draining, he really needed to find her: he could feel the poisons building within him. No doubt she hadn't touched him since the pneumonia started.

"Sam, let me go," Frodo insisted, trying to shoulder his way past.

Sam sat him down on the couch. "Mr. Frodo, you can't go. Rosie will bring her home safe."

Frodo feigned relaxation for only a moment. Then he sprang away from the couch, and Sam didn't catch him in time. Frodo's knee cracked against the floor, and he sucked in a groan as he struggled to his feet. Sev had broken into a dead run, but when she approached Bag End she heard the bang and tried to push herself faster.

"Sam, Will said she's going to kill herself. I can't just stay here," Frodo insisted. He and Sev reached the door simultaneously, but she got her hand around the knob first. The door banged back into Frodo, and he stumbled away from it. Sev shot inside; she didn't realize he would be right there, and she leaped forward, grabbing his upper arms. The trickle of red down his leg caught her eye first, and she glanced up questioningly at Sam.

The poor gardener took that as his cue to leave, and he shut the door behind him.

Sev was breathing hard from perspiration as it was, but the moment Frodo could see her—feel her—again, his lungs heaved uncontrollably. His hands roamed her arms and shoulders, up her neck and through her hair; his eyes flickered open and shut disbelievingly. He'd come so close to losing her, this time to a danger he could not see or fight.

"Frodo, come sit down." Sev tried to drag him over to the couch, afraid he was simply weak and about to fall over. He didn't budge, locked against the ground. He continued to second-guess her presence. He pulled her slowly into his embrace; he locked there hard, squeezed her close.

His fingers rubbed on her shoulder blades, as though she would leave if he didn't catch her. "Why would you do that?" he asked. But he didn't sound accusatory, just hurt and tired. Sev's jaw dropped. She shouldn't have been surprised, but the broken sincerity in his voice was something she didn't expect.

Frodo pulled away to watch her response. Despite the fact that he had to draw back, he drew the rest of her closer to him. She bent back slightly; she couldn't embrace him just yet. His arms wrapped strongly around her waist. She noted that even when he'd been sick for a week he still had more strength in every way.

Her fingers subconsciously traced his arm. "I thought—," She coughed when she realized what she had been about to lose. She couldn't imagine leaving him, not when he was right in front of her, bleeding and fragile on so many levels. She couldn't look at him, try as he might to catch her gaze. "I thought I'd failed you. I lost Will, and you sounded upset with me. I thought it for the best, to rid your life of that last bit of darkness in it."

 _Where on Earth did she get an idea like that?!_ Frodo shook his head slowly, dragging her into his arms. "Sev . . ." Frodo didn't know how to finish. He buried his face in her shoulder, letting her warmth slowly overwhelm him. Sev embraced him back.

"I know, it was wrong of me,"—albeit she didn't know why—"but there are also a few things wrong with my head. I promise, I won't leave you, not if this is how you feel."

Frodo made no sound, but tears flooded out of his eyes as he squeezed them closed. He inhaled slightly shakily. Sev gasped when her shoulder opposite the one Rosie had cried on grew damp; she held him tightly. "Frodo, you devil! Oh, you blue-eyed, wonderful devil, I'm so sorry!"

He didn't let her go for a long time.

"It makes no sense," he muttered finally through the tears still clambering down his face. He swallowed. "I never wanted you to leave; why can't you see that?"`

She thought she understood. She didn't have to feel love to know that it was there, that no matter the pain, she'd always cared for Frodo. And having him here, now, in her arms, she couldn't imagine letting him go. She realized then that thinking about herself made death seem the only welcoming option. And remembering those that she loved did the reverse, gave her a reason to keep going.

"Because I can't stop loathing what I am," she admitted. "It's a selfish thing, Frodo . . . and I promise, I'll let it go. But I'll need you to help."

Frodo settled.

"Keep me thinking about you," she said with a snicker.

Frodo didn't pull away, although he thought about it. "Do I hear Sev requesting that we kiss more often?"

Sev's jaw dropped, and a blush rose to her face. "Perhaps. Or I'm requesting that you get into trouble with Pippin and Merry so I come to find you." She grew solemn after a moment. "Actually, I guess I'm just asking you to be you, be what you've been this whole time. Don't change on me, because you're all I want and will ever need." She paused, letting jocosity sneak into her voice. "Just don't be ill, because that puts a little bit of a damper on you being you. No offense meant."

Frodo laughed slightly, and she rubbed his back. He exhaled slowly and moved away, but Sev was feeling slightly affectionate. She tilted her head as he backed off; their cheeks touched. Warmth sparked in Frodo's head, and he initially kissed her cheek very slowly. That transitioned to planting kisses on her soft face, and she touched her lips to his jaw as he moved, faster and faster while realization flooded him. Finally he cupped her face in one hand and brushed his lips tenderly against hers. His hands drifted over her back, dragging her into his embrace; he sighed deeply.

Sev broke it off slowly, but Frodo settled his arms around her, still carefully dotting her face with kisses. She gave him a moment, then put her hands on his shoulders to steady him away. He hesitantly paused.

"How did you know what I was doing?" she asked quietly.

Frodo's fingers tensed and relaxed around her shoulders, up and down, squeezing slightly and releasing. "Will spoke to me. I assume he came to you; you didn't go through with it."

Sev shook her head. "The youngest did: Ebony. She says it's time to try again."

"Ebony?" He sounded surprised, although he felt more worried. His grip on her shoulders tightened. "I don't know if I'm ready to get so close to losing you just yet," he admitted.

Sev lifted an eyebrow. "You've just got to trust me on this one. I don't start now, I never start again. It would frighten me too much if I waited, but this is something that must be done." She eased away from him and stepped over to the kitchen, where she'd started a pot of soup that morning. Having been simmering for a while, the room now smelled of tender beef and spices. She hoped that would encourage him to be pliable, but didn't count on it.

Frodo followed her inside and sat down at the table while she pulled the huge metal pot off of the fire. She ladled Frodo a bowlful and gently slid it across the table to him. He ate slowly as she sat down.

"You're still sick," Sev said quietly. "Ebony said I can help."

Frodo perked up suddenly: that meant physical contact. Sev blushed a little, but didn't look so much flattered as frightened. He watched her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she felt he'd already gotten the idea. He still eyed her expectantly, and after a minute she grew apprehensive.

"What?" Sev threw a hand into the air. "What do you want me to say?"

Frodo pondered that for a moment. "Say you're excited," he said finally.

Sev's eyes widened. "Excited?"

"Yes," Frodo persisted. "Consider yourself not staying at Bag End only for me, or only for the family, and don't think of the family that way. Maybe it could make you happy as well." He reached forward and softly picked up her hand with both of his own. She inhaled sharply, biting her lip at the gesture; his thumb rubbed across her knuckles. "So tonight, we do what you wish to do, relax you a little bit, I suppose. We stay up and read if you wish, I go to bed if you wish, we stay up and dance if you wish."

His tender touch made her heart flutter, and she was unusually wishing for it. If she could convince him it would make her happy as well, perhaps he would consent to sit on the couch with her and let her kiss him. Accordingly with her solemn feelings, her voice was jocose. "Could you handle staying up all night?" Of the options he'd given her, dancing sounded the best.

Frodo nodded, not lifting his sharp gaze from her hand. "Well, I've been ill and asleep for a week. I think one night would be more than all right. If you can heal me, then it should be pleasant: just a night with my Sev Baggins."

Sev bit her lip, blushing slightly. The sun had set low, slipping through the windows and blinds. The red sunlight illuminated her hair like a fire, and Frodo noticed that it lit up her dress as well. He'd never seen her wear it. It was white, layered thickly in individual pieces of translucent fabric. It seemed to glow a little bit, shine through the darkness of everything Sev was born to be and everything that faced them now. For a moment he felt like things would be all right.

She approached him carefully and extended a hand. Frodo accepted and followed her to the front room couch, before the empty fireplace. Sev left him to start the fire, but he wouldn't need it. He realized he'd never told her that she warmed him, but he didn't care to say anything of it now.

Sev slowly stepped up to him, and he shifted on the couch. She sat down beside him with slight apprehension, hoping he would take what she had to say.

"So I'm not taking it deep by any means," she warned.

Frodo nodded hesitantly.

"Dancing is my goal for tonight . . ." Sev paused. "But I suppose I just realized how much you mean to me, and that makes touch a little more special. So before we get into dancing . . ." She sputtered slightly. "I mean, and you need to be healed as it is."

Frodo shuffled closer to her and brushed his lips against hers, quieting her. She inhaled sharply until he pulled away.

"Go ahead," he said simply.

Sev nodded, a little nervous. She felt as though her fear was unjustified; they'd been married for over two years, had done more than she intended to do now thousands of times to different lengths.

She carefully leaned forward and pressed her hands to his shoulders, draining the poisons there. Her eyes rolled back as strength flooded her bloodstream; Frodo barely resisted doing something similar. Pain flooded away, and warmth replaced it. He grew stronger as the pneumonia sank to her touch. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her close to him.

Sev pecked his nose to start. She kissed his cheek and allowed her eyes to sink shut. Her lips dotted against his face, from his forehead to his jaw. Frodo breathed deeply as her kisses grew more tender, more sincere, softer. He didn't have to open his eyes to cup her face with his hands, and he didn't have to open his eyes to find her lips with his own. He drew her near to him, burying his hand in her hair.

She pulled away, and after some time they started dancing. They danced folk songs around the main halls, sang loudly and quietly, laughed and read for a while. But both of them loved the end of the night, drawing on close to the morning: blood-red sunlight made the shift while they danced to pearl moonlight, drifting through the front window. It illuminated Sev's white dress as she wrapped her arms around Frodo's neck, humming a haunting song Pippin had written for Diamond. Frodo responded by holding her to him and joining his voice to hers.


	63. Healing - MAJOR Fluff

**Anjion: :D Yep, darn technology; it's kind of sad how often I use that phrase. "Very good" works; thanks so much! X) Well, suicidal thinking is so complex; I don't know anyone who would even consider it for only one reason. It's got to seem perfectly hopeless, but even so it only takes something positive, however hard it is to get that into their head, to pull 'em just far away enough that they dodge it for a while. I don't know what it takes to heal completely, but that's what this chapter is for. I hope. O.o If that makes any sense.**

 **Jayla Fire Gal: Thanks so much! I guess it kind of is; it took me a while to recognize it that way. :) Frodo can only do so much for her, I suppose . . . especially since she's just that codependent. -.o Sorry . . . that's certainly an uncomfortable position to be in. XD (I know the feeling though).**

 **By the way, this chapter (very, very fluffy) has nothing explicit and nothing sexual at all, but if it bothers you to have her fall asleep there with him (it could very well have been out by a tree or something; it's really not sensual), then I wouldn't recommend the last half of the chapter. It's basically them talking about working through her suicidal issues.**

Things settled relatively well, and Frodo somehow managed to keep her from sinking into negative thoughts again. He coaxed her into staying at Bag End on a nightly basis, sometimes for a friendly talk and sometimes for a quiet, sweet moment before he slipped off to sleep.

She received another letter from Sheratan some weeks later; Frodo was out that day, actually helping Pippin build his burrow that he wanted to present to Diamond. They'd just come back from visiting Aragorn, Arwen, and their young boy Selimin at Minas Tirith.

Sev's hands trembled as she attempted to open Sheratan's letter. She breathed a heavy sigh when she started it out, how Sheratan offered her deepest and sweetest condolences for the loss. Sev couldn't finish; tears streaked down her cheeks, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. She couldn't do it. She couldn't look, couldn't bear the thought of giving birth again, going through all of that again. She abandoned the letter and raced up to the proposal tree. She gasped heavily, clutching at her heart for the pangs of sorrow there. She swallowed, settled defeatedly against the tree behind her. It was strong and cozy like Frodo, and she stared up into its blossom-laden boughs. The moonlight, pure and full, kissed the grass and rivers of the Shire with all the caress Sev knew Frodo's touch had to offer. She sank down, nudged against the tree until some of its blossoms cascaded into her hair, dotted her curls. She felt a little bit better.

When Frodo arrived at Bag End, she did not know to return, but he was fairly sure he knew where to find her—he had something perplexing and important to ask her. He checked her log first, but at last arrived at the proposal tree. She looked up, feigning a bright smile that quickly became literal as he drew closer. His features simply reminded her that no matter how much she lost, Frodo would always be her home, a part of her heart.

"Hello!" she said cheerfully, fighting the tremors within her core. She patted the ground beside her, and Frodo smiled as he sidled up to her. She nestled against his chest. "I didn't know when you'd be home. I guess I just had to take a walk for a while."

Frodo moved to speak, squeezing her shoulders with one arm . . . when he recognized the falseness of her tone, felt the shivers in her skin. He paused and glanced down. "Sev, what is it?"

Sev shrugged, shaking harder. Frodo wrapped his other arm around her protectively as she spoke. "Sheratan's weekly letter came today," she said slowly, biting her lip. She refused to look into his eyes; she barreled right through it as best she could. "Frodo, I think I'm pregnant again."

Frodo nodded gently. "I hope you didn't expect anything less from me." He chuckled slightly, and she lifted her eyes.

"That wasn't funny, you know."

"Actually, I didn't know."

Sev sighed, allowing a small laugh to escape to let him know she was not upset with him. He pecked her cheek fondly.

"Sev, it'll be all right. You told me your system is working better, and I believe that. This is something that's important to you . . . and it's become important to me," he admitted.

At this she perked up. "Well, then, what are we waiting for?!" Before she could stand, Frodo hastily wrapped her tightly against him. She glanced up at him.

"I guess we are honestly waiting for something."

He sighed. "I have something important to ask you."

Her eyes grew worried, and he shook his head. He allowed his hand to casually travel down her arm, cover her fingers with his own. "It's nothing huge, I suppose." Then he laid his head against hers. "I've been studying up on Elvish, and I wanted to ask: what does your name mean? Seville; does it have any meaning? I can find no translation in Sindarin."

Sev sighed. "It does. In the ancient languages of the country of my . . . birth."

Frodo glanced down at her. She idly traced her fingers across his hands, distracting herself from the painful things she had to admit. "It means 'blood of malice,'" she said quietly. "And that's truly what I am. The suffix '-ille' refers to darkness, lividity, horror, that sort of icky concept, if that makes any sense, and 'sev' just means life-force, typically used to refer to blood for how important and tangible blood is." Frodo made a note never to call her by her full name again. "So calling me Sev takes the darkness out of me." With that realization in mind, she looked up at him with a gentle smile. She spread her fingers out over his heart, felt the precious beats in his chest. "And you know, this is my sev. Sev's sev, that's what you are." She snickered to herself, cuddling her head against his shoulder.

Frodo buried a kiss in her hair. He then slipped his fingers under her jaw and tipped her face up to look at him; she smiled, but then he surprised her a little. He lifted her hand from his heart and pressed it against her own. "And this is my sev." He pecked her nose softly. "And this is my Sev . . ." He trailed kisses along her cheek and jaw. "My Sev . . ." He murmured her name against her skin, kissed her forehead and brushed his lips over her own.

Finally his forehead met hers. She smiled; the heat rose to her face as she wondered what he'd said, but she conceded she could ask him later.

"While we're giving each other sweet compliments, I have some of my own for you."

Frodo opened his eyes just a crack.

 _She breathed gently._ "Frodo Baggins, you are the most precious thing in the world to me." She slowly lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it multiple times. "The things you've done, the amazing sort of hobbit you are." Frodo settled comfortably as she caressed his face, kissed it between words; she allowed her expression to remain sweet and simple, knowing that to press it would be not what she wanted. "I couldn't be any happier, any luckier, any more fortunate, than to have you here. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone before, and will ever again. You do more for me than you know, everything I could ever want. You are my best friend, the most amazing person in my life. You once told me you wanted to be strong like I am." She buried a kiss in his curls. "You are strong, Frodo. You've proved you can be anything. The smallest person to change the course of the future." She clasped his collar and brought his lips to hers. It took him aback, but he certainly let it. "And somehow I managed to marry him, and be the luckiest anything alive." She sighed and sat back. Frodo felt like his very essence had been lit on fire, but she continued, not ready to quit. She cupped one of his hands in both of her own. "Intelligent, courageous, sweet, attractive. What better husband could any creature want?" She leaned forward. "And what better father could any son or daughter want?" She kissed him again. "What better hero could the world have asked for? And even if the world hadn't I would have."

Frodo grabbed her, held her tightly: she'd told him similar things the night they were married and many times since, but it still hit him a little every time. He wondered in that moment what would have happened if he'd left her for the Havens . . . how empty his life might have been. He didn't feel like a hero, but someone certainly believed he had done what no one else could.

Sev returned his embrace, relishing in his presence. "Well, that was a rant." He shook his head; she couldn't stay solemn sometimes.

With his arms softly wrapped around her waist, she knew everything would be all right. There would be pain, and there would be times when she wanted nothing more than to give up, but Frodo Baggins was worth the world to her.

Frodo pulled away and softly kissed her, allowed her warmth and love to sink in through simple, tender touch. She tangled her fingers in his hair, gently slid up onto his knees and no farther. She didn't have to do more; he knew.

He carried her home, told her if she was pregnant she'd better let him. She conceded rather sweetly, and kissed him in intervals on the way.

"The longer you stay out here the longer I can kiss you," she told him.

Often Sev stayed at Bag End during nights from then on, but restlessness accompanied her newfound habit. She did not feel very much pain from this pregnancy (that said, most of her restlessness occurred before her stomach began to grow), and wanted to prowl. But some part of her didn't want to leave Frodo, either, and knew it would be for the better of the little one if she stayed inside.

That didn't stop her restlessness one bit.

She decided it would be smarter if she lay down on the soft rug at the foot of the bed instead of troubling Frodo all night. He asked her if she wanted to come up, but she absently told him it would be better if she stayed far away. He reluctantly accepted to stay on the bed and let her on the floor, although periodically sat up to make sure she was all right down there.

"Frodo, you need sleep," she said finally. Frodo, who had just been about to get up and lie down beside her, settled back into bed. She waited until she heard a little more rustling, then nodded to herself. "Good night; I love you."

Frodo's eyes were still wide open. He glanced over the foot of the bed. "You didn't kiss me, you know."

Sev smiled to herself. "Is that why you're still awake?"

A blush rose to his face; he admitted to himself that maybe leaving that little bit of the night unresolved had kept him up. "Perhaps. Why are you?"

She paused, and it chilled the air. Frodo hoped, almost even prayed, that she wouldn't say she didn't want to live anymore, or any sort of goodbye. He didn't even notice his own tension until the sheets bunched up in his fingers so hard that his nails dug through them into his flesh. He startled, waiting for her response.

"Because I've been thinking."

Frodo then realized he was more tense than he thought; he immediately sank down two or three inches. "About?" he breathed, relieved.

Sev's eyebrow shot up when she heard his tone; he sounded like he could breathe again, as though he had lost the ability. She ignored it and sat up, folding her arms over the foot of the bed. Frodo approached her, not quite able to see her in the shadow.

"About what your life was like before I showed up," she said softly. She absently fingered his dark curls, looping them around her fingers and stroking gently to initiate calm caresses at the hair roots. Frodo's head slacked against the blanket.

His voice escaped in a murmur. "I didn't get this much attention, if that's what you mean."

Sev laughed. "No." Then she grew starkly solemn, and Frodo's eyebrows furrowed as he looked back up. "I meant your parents. Bilbo." She hesitated, checking him for signs of too much pain. She leaped up onto the bed and faced him. "You don't mention them very much, but you must miss them."

Frodo opened his arms, and she slipped into his embrace. He sighed heavily as his fingers traced against her hands, her neck, her face. "Of course I do. I was in a great deal of pain when my parents died, and when Bilbo left." Then he hesitated. "Why do you ask?"

She glanced up at him. "I just thought you were an unfeeling phantom. I've rarely seen you cry, particularly about them." She nudged him, partially jocose.

Frodo thought about that. "All of my tears came after my mother and father died. And with Bilbo . . . well, I suppose I had you. Bilbo comforted me in the absence of my parents; you were there when he left," he admitted. Then a grin spread across his face. "So you wanted to make sure I could actually feel? That's why you asked?"

Sev cackled, and Frodo's lungs shuddered; he caged his laugh. Then she breathed heavily. "In truth, I wanted to know I wasn't alone, I suppose, that losing Willation and Sheratan was something you could imagine too." Then she paused. "Except that I never really did." She glanced up. "Would you rather be with Bilbo?"

Frodo shuddered anxiously, squeezing her out of initial panic. She yelped from the pressure, and he released her slowly. He buried his face in her shoulder; he remembered every pang of bare hope and horrifying realization that day, not long enough ago, when she told him she'd rather be dead. "No," he said hastily. Then it hit him, what to say. "Would you rather be with Willation?"

Sev's eyes widened. "I love him, but no." She took that in for a moment. "Frodo, are you all right?"

He pulled back, eyeing her a little longingly, with a bit of exasperation as well. She couldn't see it, but he certainly felt it. He cupped her cheek, stroking her hair back repeatedly. "I'm all right. But Sev, ever since you tried to kill yourself, it's as though I can't take any of the words you say to mean anything else. There is nothing you've done to convince me that you would rather be here. And I want to believe you when you tell me things will be all right, that you truly are mine." He swallowed, dragging himself to a halt as he surveyed her.

One of her eyebrows rose farther than it should have been physically capable, partially because she didn't feel comfortable being worried about . . . but then that clashed with a desire to be cared for and protected, even from herself.

Sev sighed heavily. "You're right." Then she glanced up. "And if I can't do anything to convince you, I guess you'll just have to trust me when I say that you mean more to me than giving up on life ever has." She traced his curls back; she didn't know how to solidify her point. "Why else would I stay?"

Frodo swallowed, and she laid her hand against his chest, slid it around to his back from there. "Please," she said. "Please trust me." Then she glanced up, fingering his jaw. "I'm not stable; we both know that. But that's what you're here for! Willation sent me here to be safe, and to keep you safe. And every time one of us has tried to leave the other, some piece of unimaginable fate has stepped in the way." He began to breathe harder, feeling that contrast of losing her and keeping her, imagining that soft warmth gone from his life. "You always tell me that things will be all right . . . and I believe you." She swallowed, but the tears came anyway. His presence, and the possibility of the lack of it, made her feel vulnerable. She wrapped her arms desperately around him. "So believe me when I say I never want to hurt you, especially not like this."

She embraced Frodo and swayed with him until his breathing settled. He laid her down and held her for the remainder of the night, fingering her thick, large sleeping gown. It was eight times her size, but she liked it that way. It made her feel safe, she told him.

He kissed her periodically, reminding himself that she was still here in his hold, here for him to touch, to love, to feel. Sev grew rather tired, but sizzled excitedly through her exhaustion whenever his lips tenderly touched hers.

She yawned at last, slacking into the pillow beside her head. Frodo squeezed her fragile form close. "Sleep well, my Sev."


	64. All of Your Fears Will Pass Away

**Anjion: Thanks so much! :D Well, of course Pippin and Merry's was the favorite, 'cause they're awesome! *GASP* Cookies and cranberry juice?! Okay, maybe Pippin and Merry are my favorites now too . . . ;)**

Sev's second pregnancy was not a fraction so taxing; her body adapted better, according to Sheratan's letters. It was the night before Frodo's birthday, almost a year and a half after the semi-tragedy with Will. Sev spent her time at Rosie's mostly, to keep the pressure off of Frodo. Sev fell unconscious for the birth again, but when she awakened Rosie had a smile on her face. Apparently things had gone acceptably well.

Sev had again lost a great deal of blood, but the necessary levels had gone into her child—or two children, as Rosie soon showed her. Sev gawked when Rosie laid a boy and a girl into each of her arms. Although exhausted, she spent the next while musing over names.

Peregrine and Rosie, she finally decided.

Rosie brought the children aside, and Sam promised to look after them. Rosie supplied Sev with a rather substantial cut (not attained on purpose), and Sev ran back home to awaken Frodo. The blood and circumstances of night had energized her, but now she stepped into his room gently. Everything felt right at that moment; she didn't know how anything could go wrong in that second, albeit she knew things would change.

She knelt down by the bed and lifted his hand tenderly from his side. She touched her lips to his fingertips, caressing the bitten one. Consciousness tingled through Frodo as she reached forward, kissing his jaw.

"Good morning, love," she murmured. "Happy birthday."

Frodo caught her lips with his, although he was not awake enough to do much. "Indeed it is." He sat up when he fully awakened, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She sank to the mattress as he dotted kisses over her face. He leaned his forehead against the side of her head and yawned.

Sev laughed slightly. "Should I have let you sleep longer?"

His every movement seemed muddled. He shook his head, then found her hand with his. He laid both against her stomach . . . then stiffened with a sharp inhale. Sev backed away, a little startled.

Frodo stared down at their hands. "Sev, what happened?"

"Happy birthday," she said again, shivering with excitement just a little. She laughed triumphantly. "Frodo, there were—are—two of them! Peregrine and Rosie."

"No wonder you kept saying this one was heavier," Frodo said, squeezing her shoulders.

She squirmed a little bit in his arms. "Do you want to go see them?"

Frodo nodded, but held her close before she could go anywhere. She looked up at him questioningly.

"Just a moment, first?" he said somewhat timidly.

"It's your day for the taking, Frodo," Sev said. "As should be the case. Do you want to sleep more first?" She palmed his nose, and he snickered slightly.

Then he grew sentimental, and chills raced across Sev's shoulders and arms. He drew her close to his chest rather slowly. "No; rather I am reminded today is our anniversary as well. Our third. And I think it would be perfectly appropriate . . ." He pecked her nose. " . . . to spend a few minutes kissing."

Sev grew purple and flicked her gaze to the ground. "You're right." She looked back up at him. "Well, what are you waiting for, you devil?"

He smiled somewhat tiredly. "I was waiting for you, Mrs. Baggins."

Frodo carefully fingered the thick curls from her face. His fingertips flickered over her features, and he made a note to kiss every one of them. His lips brushed softly against hers, and his head spun with warmth when she kissed him back intently. Sev tenderly slipped her fingers into his hair, locking them together with nothing to pull them apart.

 **Well . . . here we are. The end of** **Blood of Malice** **. All right, so I have story structure that goes far beyond this, but as far as the written story goes, this is the end.**

 **A HUGE, MEGA thank you to Anjion, for reviewing every single chapter, and to Jayla Fire Gal for being such a wonderful reviewer; this chapter, and this story, are dedicated to you two. :)**

 **Also a thank you to the favoriters: Alfirin B, Anjion, HerMajestyTheKing, Jayla Fire Gal, JustBeing, avatarange, girllyingbythesea901, and tooker86!**

 **Thank you as well to the followers: Alfirin B, AngelInDisguise1985, Anjion, ApocalypticSquirrel, Aria Breuer, Blue Wolf29, GiGi Babineaux, Jayla Fire Gal, JustBeing, LadySoy, avatarange, freetobe16, golden-priestess, iluvninjas, and tooker86! Yes, I do repeat names, because that's just not even enough credit for what they deserve.**

 **Good luck in all your future projects, and I hope to see you in some other story, mine or yours. :)**

 **I bid you all a very fond farewell . . . until we meet again.**

 **-Sev B**

 _ **"And thus it was-upon returning home from the Grey Havens, I felt a hope I never had before. It was as though the complexity of my struggle suddenly unraveled, and left the knot in my heart as shreds of harmless rope. And as I sit here now, gazing upon my family, I see that hope in their eyes. I feel joy I never have before, peace that I never imagined I could feel again.  
I felt the Book should end this way. I know I felt remorse once, and that I will again, but for now . . . for now, before the fire with my wife asleep on my shoulder and my little ones curled before the dancing flames, the world cannot harm me. The wounds I bear, the horror I've felt, has melted away.  
Until my dying days I will be grateful for the change wrought upon me; what once was agony and darkness is now warmth and love. May I do for her what she has done for me."**_

 _ **-Frodo Baggins, The Red Book of Westmarch**_

 _ **"Now, just to be clear, this journal is only for my eyes, but perhaps I shall show these pages to my children. They need to know what a hero and a friend their father is, the legacy he's left even if he doesn't want to recall it. For reasons I don't understand he credits me with his healing; I suppose I should let my posterity know that truly he did more than he knows, more than I ever could have done. He carried the greatest burden in the world, and even if he did need help to do it he did everything he could. He saved this world, and he destroyed any possible remnants of darkness within himself.  
I wish I could say he is a perfect creature. The only reason I don't is because he insists that he is not, but I don't believe that; he is perfect in his own right. To say he's never done a wrong thing in his life is untrue, but he's perfect to me, and for me; I see beyond the minor things and to where his desires lie. May the world never discredit him for complaining or failing at the end of his mission, for that is not the amazing lad he is.  
And may the world always remember Frodo Baggins. This story, any legacy I've left behind, is not for me, but for him: he brought light in more than one way, and I'm living proof of that."**_

 _ **-Seville Baggins**_


End file.
